


The Naked Truth

by brooke2broch



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:00:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 69,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27339808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brooke2broch/pseuds/brooke2broch
Summary: Captain Swan AU. Emma Swan, investigative reporter for the Globe, has arrived in Storybrooke, Maine, in the middle of a heat wave to do an undercover exposé on small town political corruption. The temperature gets even hotter when she meets the dashing mayor — and subject of her story — Killian Jones. When his political rival Regina Mills sets Emma to the task of finding the truth, she unwittingly puts her in the path of something darker and more dangerous than anyone ever expected. Although Emma has been in sticky situations before, something about this town, her newfound friends, and the confounding mayor have her edgy. Because for once in her life, Emma may have found something worth staying for.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 46
Kudos: 92





	1. Chapter 1

_ Stepping out of a shiny black Audi sedan, Emma Swan squinted into the light of the single street lamp in front of the seaside inn. _

_ “Thanks for the ride,” she mouthed to the man behind the closed window. _

_ She couldn’t actually see his face, but she was grateful he had stayed in the car. Truth be known, if he were to step out right now, her resolve to keep her hands off him would be shot to hell. It struck her that perhaps Hell was exactly where he came from. She was certain there were no angels that looked the way he looked tonight: tousled brown hair, stubble, tight black jeans, and dark grey button-down shirt with the collar open more than was decent. It wasn’t just the clothes. The body beneath seemed as though it had been built to inspire sin. And he knew it. The way he carried himself — as though he was always two seconds away from luring you into a dark corner, trapping you against the wall, and having his way with you — he was no less than the devil incarnate. _

_ A cool breeze blew up from the water, breaking her thoughts and making her stand up straighter. She took a deep breath and lifted her hair off her damp neck. What she needed right now was to escape the oppressive heat.  _ Escape him,  _ a small voice whispered. Since the breeze was coming off the water, she thought, in her half-sober logic, that it might be a good idea to head down to the marina, maybe dangle her feet from the docks. _

_ The swish of the window on the car behind her and the air conditioning spilling out over her feet had her cursing. She turned to face the open window, tugging the back of her tight red dress down as she bent down to speak.  _ Act casual, Swan.  _ “I’m fine, now, Mr. Mayor. You’ve done the chivalrous thing and delivered me to my hotel. You can go now.” _

_ He started to say something, but she stood up and began to walk away, bypassing the path to her building and heading towards the water. _

_ Behind her, tires slowly crunched on the gravel, and then came to a stop. The headlights blinked out. A car door opened and shut.  _ Shit. _ There were shoes pounding the pavement at a quick clip and then silence. When she turned around, she found him staring at her with a look of concern knitting his brows. He ran his hand through his hair and exhaled, and she tried to ignore how damn sexy he looked when he was worried. _

_ “The inn was that way, Swan. So unless you have taken up residence in someone’s houseboat, you’re walking in the wrong direction.” _

_ “Where I walk is none of your concern.” _

_ “I beg to differ. The water down there is at least twenty feet deep. The last thing I need to wake up to on Sunday is a lawsuit because a bloody tourist decided to take a drunken stroll off the end of my docks.” _

_ “I’m not drunk. Just a little buzzed.” _

_ “Nearly four tumblers of rum in an hour or two, lass? If you aren’t drunk, I’d be heartily impressed.” _

_ “Well, prepare to be impressed.” She pivoted on her heel and began to stride away, but damn it if she didn’t pick that moment to trip on some rope and nearly fall to the ground, grabbing the bumper of a parked car on the way down. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” _

_ “Whoa. Here, let me help you.” He reached out to help her stand again, but rather than putting her on solid footing, his firm grip around her waist made her feel even more unsteady. _

_ It wasn’t the liquor. This man had the uncanny ability of being able to set her off balance. Ever since the moment she first laid eyes on him. _

~~ _ A week and a half prior~~ _

“I’ll probably need a little longer than I expected for this story. Let Walsh know I’m not going to make our deadline. And we need to talk about-” She paused, grasping for the right words.

“If you are satisfied with your message, please press 1. If you would like to-”

“Seriously?! No, I’m not satisfied.” She groaned into her phone. “I hate your voicemail, Neal.”

She poked the end-call button on her screen a little more forcefully than was necessary, muttering curse words and tossing her phone back into her bag, before heading out for breakfast.

It wasn’t the phone’s fault. She was already in a funk. Emma Swan wasn’t the type to readily admit defeat, but the lack of anything resembling a lead was frustrating.

The residents of Storybrooke had been like every other New Englander she had known — excessively helpful when it came to giving directions but guarded when it came to making small talk. She had hoped when she tried to broach the subject of town politics that someone would give her an earful. There was always a hot button issue in these towns: cat leash laws, water bottle bans, electric line installations, pipelines. Surely there was some dirt somebody wanted to offload if given the chance.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t found a speck of dirt yet. Not in her couple months of background research. And not in her interviews. 

Then again, when something looked too good to be true, it usually was.

She was at the counter at Granny's, the local diner, enjoying some excellent pancakes and trying to decide on a new method of attack, when she was caught off guard by the very subject of her investigation.

“Killian Jones. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

She hadn’t intended to give the inquisitor the time of day, but the English accent compelled her to look.

Of course, Emma had read extensively about him already. So she knew from newspaper and online photos that he was easy on the eyes, and if the string of different women on his arm gave any indication, he knew it, too. In person, though, the guy should come with a warning label. The effect of seeing  _ that _ face for the first time, caught unawares, was jarring. Her reflexive reaction huffed the smallest bit of coffee into her windpipe and it took at least a minute to clear her throat.

He sat there the whole time in his tailored pale grey suit and open collared dress shirt, the edge of a heavy necklace slipping into view, serenely awaiting her response. His eyebrow lifted over those piercing blue eyes and a smile dimpled into his auburn five o’clock shadow.

After pulling the cloth napkin away from her mouth, she croaked, “Emma Swan,” holding out her hand.

“Welcome to Storybrooke.” He smiled even more broadly and took her hand, his wide silver rings cool against her skin. The combination of his firm grip and good cheer fueled her annoyance even more. Not to mention, the way he overtly stared at her mouth before meeting her eyes felt entirely too familiar.

“Thanks,” she muttered, trying to ignore the way her blood hummed, before releasing his hand.

He placed his suit coat on the back of his stool and slid down to sit, rotating to face the white-haired woman serving him from her industrial-sized coffee machine. She slid him a black coffee, and he sipped as he talked about the weather with her. Killian absently twisted the large band on his right index finger.

Figuring him to now be occupied, Emma reached back into her brown leather bag and grabbed her tablet to make herself look busy. It was so nerve-wracking with him sitting there next to her; he had evidently sought her out to talk to her. Could he tell she was reading the same sentence over and over?

After a few minutes, he broke the silence. “Where are you travelling from?” He was still facing forward, but clearly speaking to her.

“Boston.”

“Lovely city, indeed. What brings you to town?”

“Business.”

“Not pleasure, then. Pity.”

She took a sip of her coffee and cast a side-long glance at him. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“Do I?” He shrugged and half-smiled. Then continued in that accent of his that she hadn’t quite gotten over yet. “Just making small talk as I’m wont to do.”

His eyes met hers, searching. This guy was going to be trouble for her. She could feel it. He made her nervous, and not in the way she was accustomed to. Not in the way you wonder if you should have come with a bodyguard. Nor the way you walk away from a meeting with an informant looking over your shoulder. He made her nervous because he was alluring. Alluring in the same way a sundew is to a fly — all sweetness and beauty — and then it is eaten alive before it ever knew what was happening. She refused to be the fly.

Emma broke his gaze, speaking a bit more sharply than she intended, “So. The mayor has come out to greet me, why?”

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me?”

“Your name is printed right on the town sign, Mr. Mayor.”

“Killian,” he said.

Unh-unh. She wasn’t going to bite at the invitation to get all chummy with a man who was plainly digging for information.

“You didn’t answer my question,  _ Mr. Jones _ . Why are you here?”

“I woke up this morning and said to myself, ‘Jones, why don’t you go down to Granny’s and see if you can find a fetching blonde to vex.’”

“Well, you’ve succeeded.”

“Sincere apologies.”

“Apology accepted.” She sat her tablet down and took a bite of her food, scrutinizing her plate and hoping he’d take the hint. “Well … uh ... It was nice meeting you.”

He did not. take. the. hint.

“Alright. I can see you’re a direct sort of woman, Miss Swan, so I won’t suffer you with pretenses. The word on the street is that you’ve been taking photos and asking a lot of questions.”

“If you’ve heard that, then you know why I’m here.”

“You’re in town taking photos and gathering information for a travel guide?”

“That’s right,” she said, trying to speak as naturally as possible. “Actually, an article for the travel section of the paper.”

“And you honestly believe I am buying that story? You’re an investigative reporter. Easy enough to find that information.”

“I am  _ investigating  _ the most photogenic towns in New England,” Emma said, selling the lie, she hoped. “Yes, I am frequently called on to do more hard-hitting pieces, but I was burnt out and needed to work an easier piece. Call it a vacation.”

His response was a raised eyebrow.

“Hey, I don’t care what you think. Whatever I’m doing here isn’t your concern. Asking questions and taking photos doesn’t break any law I’m aware of. I suggest you stick to — I don’t know — school board disputes or potholes or whatever it is that the taxpayers pay you to do here.” She rolled her eyes.

“Looking out for my constituents is precisely what I am doing here.”

_ Looking out for himself, more like, _ she thought. She searched his eyes for a moment, and then said jovially, “Just what nefarious deeds could I possibly be up to, Mr. Mayor? I’m a journalist.”

He wasn’t amused. “I’ve yet to discover your true purpose here, but I’ve still plenty of time.”

“Have fun working it out, Sherlock. I’m only here for a couple weeks. Meantime, I’d like to eat in peace.”

For a moment he watched her, considering, then he crooked the corner of his mouth up and shook his head. Taking his cue (finally), he stood up, leaving a half-drunk cup of coffee and a couple of bucks on the counter. His chest was right in her line of sight as he pulled on his suit coat. His muscles looked positively amazing under that white fabric fitted across his shoul-  _ What was she doing!? _ She glanced down to avoid staring. Her eyes caught the shine of the silver buckle on his black leather belt, then drifted lower ...  _ Crap.  _ She quickly looked back up and met his eyes, which were now wrinkled at the corners as he grinned impishly.

“See you around, Miss Swan.”

“I’m sure you will.” She suddenly became extremely interested in her pancakes.

He was still staring at her; she could feel it. 

After a few moments, he began to walk to the door, exchanging pleasantries with diners convivially as he left. It was only after she heard the door shut that she glanced up. He was outside of Granny’s now, talking with a striking brunette and an important-looking African-American gentleman — both dressed as impeccably as he was. They all looked towards the restaurant window and Emma’s head whipped back down, her heart pounding.

If those people knew something and were talking to Mayor Jones about it, then it would blow her story out of the water. After all, when you’re doing an exposé on small-town government corruption, the last person you want clued in is the mayor of said town.

She probably had nothing to worry about. The only other person who knew why she was really here was Neal Cassidy, her editor at the Globe and boyfriend of three years. Well, him, and whoever gave him the tip — which he had said was given discreetly and was a sure thing.

Their relationship ... not so much.

In the last year, she had come to realize that she would never be Neal’s priority. Their relationship had once been easy and familiar, so she had let her misgivings slide for a while, focusing on work and ignoring the hollow in her heart. But she would rather be alone with herself then  _ feel _ alone with Neal. She would be thirty-one in October and she refused to spend another decade unhappy.

Her thoughts strayed to how it had all begun — with him as a ride-along to her burgeoning journalism career. Quite literally: fresh graduate of BU, she couldn’t turn down Neal’s offer to come with her to the scene of a double-homicide and give her pointers on how best to get people to talk on record. At a diner afterwards, he had opened up to her about his difficult childhood.

Something about his candor, on a night that had been so full of raw emotion, just struck a chord. Of course, it was a long time before the friendship they formed over onion rings and grilled cheese turned into something else — a long time before she opened up to him and let him in. His poor relationship with his parents had given him the ability to understand her in a way that others hadn’t before. In fact, she’d never met his father, whom he claimed he had a strained relationship with; his mother had abandoned them so long ago he barely remembered her face.

The fact that she and Neal shared childhood trauma wasn’t enough to mitigate his nasty habit of using her weaknesses against her in the heat of an argument. Or to cover the fact that he never truly made her feel loved.

She had tried desperately to break it off before she left, but he was irritatingly unreachable. The voice in the back of her head was telling her that he knew what was coming and was intentionally avoiding her calls. He’d earned his stripes in investigative reporting. He couldn’t be that oblivious. What was particularly irritating was how he wasn’t there to help her with research or interviews; for the first time since she could remember he had feigned being too busy. She knew he was lying. Seeing as how she was dead set against texting him a break-up note, she would just have to put that particular issue aside for now.

Anyway, she’d see him soon enough.

The sound of a perky female voice broke through her heavy thoughts. “You’re that reporter, aren’t you?”

“What?” Emma turned to her left to find a brunette with a pixie cut and the sincerest smile she’d ever seen. She hadn’t seen her sit down, but she must have been there for a few minutes, since she was already halfway through a bowl of yogurt and berries. Whoever she was, she looked like she belonged on a 1950’s magazine ad: perfect pink button up sleeveless shirt, floral knee-length skirt, twinkling eyes.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you while you were eating. Mary Margaret Blanchard.”

Emma took her hand and shook it. “Emma Swan. Yes. I’m the one doing the travel story. And, it’s no bother.”

“I heard something like that. I can’t say we aren’t all a little excited. We could use the publicity. Camden gets all the tourists — no one seems to notice us out here.”

“I’m hoping to change that a bit. So, you’ve lived here long?”

“All my life.”

“You like it here?” Emma pulled out her tablet. “Do you mind if I take notes?”

“Sure. Yes. It’s great, mostly. The coastline is lovely, we have all we need in town, and everyone looks out for each other.”

“Can’t get more idyllic than that. Did I spell your name right?” Emma showed her tablet to Mary Margaret.

“That’s it.”

“I can see how your town got its name.” Emma smiled. “It’s so quaint. Almost like it’s from a fairy tale or something. The whole place feels like it’s from another time.”

“It feels that way sometimes.” Mary Margaret sighed. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s nice. But sometimes I wish ... well, never mind.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I’m not here to pry.” Liar. “So, the mayor? He seemed ... nice.”

“Killian. You met him? Yeah. He’s wonderful. I teach here. So, I am more than a little familiar with our mayor’s good deeds.”

Wonderful. He was “wonderful.” Not “corrupt.” Not “shady.” Emma tried a different tack. “It must have been a landslide election for him — being that he’s so personable. And attractive.”

Mary Margaret’s eyes got wide, as if this were a revelation. “Oh! Well, yes! Yes, he is.” Then she paused, thinking, taking a bite of her yogurt then motioning with her spoon in the air. “Well, you would have thought he’d be a shoe-in. Because you’re right — he’s got the charm and the looks — and he’s also smart and hard-working. He had tough competition, though. Regina Mills, the local bank president. She was the mayor before him; in fact, twice before. There were claims that- Well, for one, he left Storybrooke for a while. Went to New York. Big shot college internship. Some thought he got too big for his britches. Also, he wasn’t from around here. Some people are always a bit wary of outsiders. Even ones that had spent half their lives here.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen that sort of thing before,” Emma said. “So his parents weren’t from here?”

“He was an orphan. He had a brother named Liam who raised him. I think maybe they ran on the other side of the law at one point — that was one of the other things that came up during the election — but I never saw it. A few years ago, there was an accident ... Liam ... ”

Mary Margaret paused; sorrowful eyes focused on a memory Emma couldn’t see. Of course, Emma had already come across news to this effect, but hadn’t gotten the whole story. How interesting that the mayor had such a similar past to hers, except for having a sibling.

“Sorry to hear about his brother,” she said, putting her hand on Mary Margaret’s arm. She’d look into the mayor’s past a bit more. But teenage mischief wasn’t what she was looking for. All teenagers rebel to some extent. Emma had, herself. It didn’t necessarily lead to a lifetime of crime.

“The whole town was beside themselves. Liam Jones was quite the guy. Everyone loved him. No one more than Killian.” When she spoke again, it was softer — almost a whisper, “Anyway, at least Killian has David. He’s the closest thing to family for him now.”

“Who?”

“David Nolan. He’s-” She paused to shake off the melancholia and renewed the conversation with what appeared to be her typical optimism. “His family has been here forever. They have a lot of pull. They were so upset when he went into law enforcement. He was supposed to take over the family farm.”

“He’s a cop here?”

“He’s the sheriff.”

The sheriff was best friends with the mayor? Mental note to not ask  _ him  _ obvious questions. “So, these guys go way back?”

“Mmhmm,” Mary Margaret says. “They were so much fun to be around.”

Emma tried to imagine Killian Jones in his formative years, sans suit and facial hair. “It’s hard to picture the mayor in his younger years.”

“Hold on. I might actually have some pictures.” Mary Margaret whipped out her phone and pulled up Facebook. Scrolling through an album entitled “Summer Break 04,” she clicked through thumbnails.

Emma peered over her arm and saw the dark-haired form of Killian Jones. “Looks like the mayor in that one.”

“Oh yeah. It is.” She clicked on it.

Two men stood side by side outside of a storefront with beach balls and towels displayed. Killian’s face bore a mischievous smirk and Liam — who was fairer of hair and dressed more demure — had his head tipped back in the throes of a full-bodied laugh. He may not have looked like a GQ cover model back then but she could still see the essence of the adult she had met in the face of the younger man.

“Liam?”

“It is,” Mary Margaret said, scrolling some more. “Oh! Look here. I forgot about her. But this is David.”

In the image, David, Killian, Mary Margaret, and a beautiful raven-haired woman sat together at a dinner table. David looked like the stereotypical boy-next-door. Adorable. Killian looked smitten. “Who is she?” Emma wondered.

“You know, I don’t remember. Killian only brought her back from New York for the one visit and she was gone the next day. Looks like this was 2006. My first year teaching. Goodness, I had such long hair then.”

“Just a fling for him then?” Emma asked, convincing herself it was relevant. 

“No. Actually, he’d known her for like a year. I think he was going to propose to her that trip. I can’t remember. He hasn’t been with anyone seriously since then.”

Emma looked back down at the face of the man who had been through all that pain and wondered how much loss it would take for a man to fall off the path of the lawful and upstanding. Is that what she was dealing with?

Mary Margaret suddenly exclaimed, “Listen to me talking! I’m not helping you with your article at all.”

“No, I like hearing these everyday stories. It adds color. The mayor and his brother seemed close.”

“As close as family gets. What’s your family like?”

“Mine? Oh, you know how family is.” She wasn’t going to say how she had no idea who her family was or what it must be like to have a family at all. Let alone a family with deep ties to a town like this.

Mary Margaret waited expectantly for the story that never came. And then took a sip of her tea, seemingly unfazed by Emma’s lack of elaboration. “So, how long are you staying?”

“Maybe a couple of weeks. A month tops.”

“Well then. I am taking you for a walk through Storybrooke Forest. There are waterfalls and gorges, and at least two dozen different species of songbirds. Are you free this weekend?”

“Absolutely. Maybe tomorrow you could show me your school? If it’s open in the summer?”

“Yes, I can swing that,” she said, reaching into her bag and pulling out her cell phone. “Give me your number and I’ll text you later.”

“Here.” She typed her number and returned it. “I look forward to hearing from you about tomorrow. And the hike this weekend.” And to hearing more about the town and Killian. This conversation had been the most productive she’d had yet.

“I’m so glad I met you, Emma! This is so exciting. A story in the Globe!” Mary Margaret placed her money on the counter. “See you.”

Emma smiled at her as she walked out, “Bye, Ms. Blanchard. Nice meeting you.”

Perhaps things were looking up for her after all.


	2. Chapter 2

It was going to be another hot one, Killian thought, watching a haze rise up from the spot where a shopkeeper stood spraying down the sidewalk. The whole street now carried that uniquely summer smell of warm, wet pavement. A family Killian didn’t recognize, tourists maybe, skirted the water and the smallest of the bunch giggled when he was hit with some of the droplets. He smiled. _ To be young and carefree. _ Although he couldn’t remember ever being both of those things at the same time. 

It was just shy of eight, and most of the small shops lining the business district — outside of the handful of restaurants serving breakfast — would be shuttered till ten.

He took a pull from the coffee in his hand and grimaced.  _ Bloody hell. _ It was as though someone burnt the grounds with an iron and then brewed them with bath water. He glanced longingly in the direction of Granny’s, but he’d be damned if he was going to make an appearance there after his experience on Wednesday. By all accounts Storybrooke was still playing host to that  _ reporter _ . He refused to even  _ think _ her name. He’d already wasted a good portion of the last few days worrying over her presence in town, and enough was enough.

A hearty clap on his shoulder snapped him out of his thoughts. “Killian! Hey.”

“Sheriff Nolan! Looking ship-shape this morning.”

He laughed, “Says the man in the Armani suit. Can you stand a little farther away from me, man? You’re making me look bad.” He shoved his wallet into the back pocket of his blue jeans and held a styrofoam cup in his other hand.

An attractive brunette in a sundress passing them fumbled her step as she eyed David’s fitted grey shirt one second too long to notice the crack in the sidewalk. Killian nudged him, “I would say you’re doing just fine. And, it’s bespoke.”

“Bespoke?”

“The suit. It’s- You know what? That’s neither here nor there. Can you spare a moment to talk or are you on your way to breakfast?”

“I’m all set. I was over at Country Bread with- Yeah. I have a few minutes.”

The dropped thought hadn’t been overlooked by Killian, but he didn’t push the matter. It was undeniably related to that schoolteacher he’d been pining for as long as he had known the man. For the life of him, he didn’t understand why Nolan didn’t just give in to his better judgment and ask her out. He was a grown man for God’s sake. He needed to set aside his guilt around leaving the family business and stop letting his mother dictate his love life. It was high time he broke it off with Kathryn Clarke and shacked up with Miss Blanchard already.

“You missed the last two game nights, mate,” Killian said. “Gold won the last one and, frankly, he’s being an insufferable arse about it. It’s not the same without you and your horrendously dreadful poker face.”

David was incredulous. “First off, I don’t know what you’re talking about. My poker face is so good, you don’t even know it’s a poker face. And secondly, I’ve been busy looking into that thing you wanted me to look into.”

He raised his brows knowingly. “Have you then?” Killian looked around to make sure they were alone on their stretch of the street. When he continued, he spoke more softly. “Please continue.”

Killian had spent the better part of his first year in office pursuing the projects he campaigned for. In the last few months, however, he had also begun inspecting his budget line by line. At first blush, although there were numbers he wanted to reduce and projects he wanted to eliminate, all seemed to be in order. But Killian hadn’t made a fortune in small caps by accepting numbers at face value. Some things seemed off to him, and David had been doing some digging in the police department files to help get to the bottom of it.

“I asked Regina to stop by the station today, to explain a few items in last year’s budget to me. She said that Sidney did all her accounting and then kind of blew me off. Frankly, she wasn’t much help.”

Killian wasn’t surprised at all by that. Why would Regina want to help the best friend of the mayor that had unseated her?

“I got a similar line from her,” Killian said, scratching behind his ear. “I think we need to take a different tack, Dave.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“For now, nothing. I’ll keep you apprised.”

David muttered, “I’m not sure that Regina can be trusted.”

It had been a long time since she had been anything approaching trustworthy where he was concerned.  _ Since Robin,  _ he thought. “Agreed. Something is decidedly dodgy there.”

They walked for a few minutes in silence, sipping their coffees, when David stopped abruptly. “Oh! I wanted to talk to you about something else.”

“What’s that, mate?”

“Leroy dropped by the station yesterday to say that this reporter was asking him a lot of — as he put it — ‘suspicious questions.’ I wouldn’t mention it because, well, Leroy. But, he’s the third person to talk to me about her in the last couple days.”

Just the mention of Emma Swan, and every other thought in his head slipped away. “Hmm? Is that so? Well, you should know you’re not the only one who’s been hearing talk about this Swan woman.”

“Do you want me to have a word with her?”

“I already have,” Killian said, reliving the moment when he first saw the reporter, blonde hair spilling over her bare shoulders, dotted with a handful of freckles. He wondered fleetingly if she had them on her nose as well. He hadn’t noticed. He was too preoccupied with her lush red lips … and beguiling green eyes.

“Find out anything?” David said, oblivious to Killian’s distracted expression, as they crossed a street.

“Aye. That she is certainly not here to write a travel piece.” He thought back to their conversation, remembering how she had given him the shrug-off. “And that she doesn’t bloody well want anything to do with me.”

David laughed heartily. “She’s an excellent judge of character.”

“I knew I could count on you for your support, mate.” Killian chuckled, putting his hand on the library door.

“Always, Killian.” David looked left and right before crossing the street, shouting back at Killian, “You free this Saturday for drinks? Rabbit Hole?”

“I’ll be there.”

~~~~

Picking up his reserved books had cost him time he did not have; his secretary was going to be wondering where he was. Hastily making for the library exit, he was already bracing for a dress-down over being late. He halted when he caught sight of  _ her _ . Or rather, her hair.

Across the room, past the stacks, sat — he knew with certainty by only the smallest glimmer of golden curls — Emma Swan, poring over something at the microfilm machine. 

Killian’s initial thought was to slip away silently and not risk another interaction like the one before. But he  _ really  _ wanted to know what she was researching back there. And he had never been a man to back away from a challenge. 

He stepped quietly around a bookshelf and came out the other side, where her workstation was more visible. She sighed, stretched, and twisted her hair on top of her head, affixing it with a band from her wrist. With the obstructing locks off her neck, he could see the screen. There was a cover image from the  _ Storybrooke Daily Mirror _ : his own face was staring back at him. It was election coverage from eighteen months ago. 

When he stepped out into the open, she immediately flicked off the machine and looked in his direction.

“Oh! You.” She flipped over her tablet and spun her chair to face him.

Meeting her gaze directly kept him from noticing how her soft blue t-shirt hugged the curves of her body. However, it also meant trying to avoid watching her perfect mouth. Particularly when her lips narrowed in irritation. He definitely should have not wondered what it would be like if he were to take that lip in his teeth — how she would taste, what noises she would make.  _ No,  _ he thought,  _ imagining that would be extraordinarily ill-advised.  _

“How’s the story coming, Miss Swan?” He sauntered towards her. “It’s been a day since I chanced upon you at Granny’s. Any progress?”

“Chanced upon me? Is that what you call it?” She chortled. “Yes, I’m making quite a bit of progress.”

“I’m happy to hear that. If you need anything from my office, you need only ask.”

“Will do. I’m good for now. How’s your mayor — uh — stuff going?” Her mock friendly smile, and the fact she was subtly slipping the notes from her desk into her bag didn’t escape his notice.

“The mayor stuff?” He chuckled. “Nothing but glamour and glory. I took a tour of the new install at the waterworks yesterday. Followed it up with three hours of paperwork. It was thoroughly stimulating.”

“I’ll bet.” He watched as she toyed with the chain around her neck. Good. He was making her as edgy as she made him. No other woman he’d been with in the last - he couldn’t remember - had made him feel this off-kilter. “I was treated to an early morning elementary school visit today. Really nice upgrades to the classrooms and gym.”

He rounded the side of the bookcase that separated him from her, and she eyed his progress warily. “You approve of it? I renovated it last year. We were able to procure supplies at quite a discount. In fact, we came in well under budget.”

“What other projects have you done around here since you’ve come into office?” she said; more inviting, friendlier.

“The projects since I’ve been in office? Road improvements, park and playground upgrades, that sort of thing. I’m sure none of this is interesting to tourists,” Killian added, wondering when she was going to drop her charade.

“That’s not so. Our readers love to get the whole story.”

It was time to move past this nonsense. If only he could get beneath that tough exterior, he was certain he could soften her up, and find out more about why she was here. Emma Swan was a puzzle he was going to figure out.

“What exactly is  _ your  _ story, Miss Swan?” He came to a stop near her, leaning back onto the neighboring table, and looked right into her mesmerizing eyes. 

She sat up straighter, searching his eyes in return. After a charged silence, she looked at the floor, and then back to him, speaking more softly. “I’m a journalist, Mr. Mayor. I’m not a part of the story. I just tell it.”

“I understand, love. It’s just that you ...intrigue me.”

“Right. Protecting your citizens’ interests and all that.” she said, and she wasn’t wrong. But that wasn’t all. 

“Perhaps _ I _ just want to know more about  _ you _ .”

He ran his tongue over his upper teeth. Her eyes darted to his lips, and then away. The knowing grin on his face reached his eyes.

“There’s nothing to hear,” she said.

“I’m sure you’ve got some mischief in your closet. A little recalcitrance?”

“Hmm. What about you, Mr. Jones? Have any skeletons in your closet?”

There was a pinch of shame in his heart at the sheer number of pockets he picked, foodstuffs he slipped in his shirt, door locks he had tripped, in his heyday. “Don’t we all?”

She looked at him, curiously, and again didn’t answer his question. “Regardless. By all accounts, my life is rather boring.”

“I suspect you’re anything but. Perhaps you’ve gone too long without truly letting yourself have some fun.”

“I have plenty of fun, thanks.”

“Indeed?” His feet were nearly touching hers, now. 

She surprised him by quickly standing up; her face was only an arm’s reach away.  _ She did have freckles on her nose _ , he thought to himself, before she said, suggestively, “If I want to have  _ fun _ , Mr. Mayor, I am more than capable of  _ doing it  _ by myself.”

Was she insinuating what he thought she was insinuating? Unbidden thoughts of her, naked, running her fingers over her slick flesh flooded his mind. He desperately hoped that his face didn’t betray him. By the time he snapped out of it, he was surprised to find her wearing a cheeky  _ Gotcha! _ grin.

What was this woman trying to do to him? Whatever it was, he concluded, it was not going to come to any good for him. A quick reversal of course seemed the best option. Charming the story out of her was a losing proposition. So, he tamped down his libido, breathed deeply, and backed away. He knew he had to get out of her sphere and onto firmer ground. Being close to her made all of his sensible thoughts disappear.

“Aye. Well, I’ll leave you to your ... research.”

The tone of her voice in response was far smoother than he felt. “Thank you for stopping by, Mr. Mayor.”

He resolved to avoid Emma Swan as much as possible before she left town.

~~~~


	3. Chapter 3

Two days’ worth of library work had netted loads of background fluff and nothing at all on the dirty politics angle, which was frustrating. Still, Emma was thankful for a complete lack of anything resembling a swaggering Englishman since her encounter with him the morning before.

In the quiet of her microfilm carrel she had focused her efforts on articles about elections, ballot questions, and government projects, while keeping an eye out for anything relating to the current or former mayor. Her estimate of how long this was going to take had gone significantly up after seeing just how much coverage Killian Jones had gotten in the time he’d been in the public eye. 

Storybrooke’s Daily Mirror sure did like talking and speculating about Killian Jones  — not just politically. His love life, or rather, his lack of commitment to any one woman, had been referenced by adversaries in more than one news story or letter to the editor.

Most of which were  _ only  _ available in archived hard copy papers. Storybrooke had been slow to shift their newspaper to online, and even at that, the website only seemed to carry a half dozen stories from their paper version. Because of this fact, she had spent an arm and a leg on printouts and had filled a couple of flash drives. 

At one point, she almost called Neal to see if he might be able to help her do some reading — something he had always done in the past; however, his enigmatic disappearance made that impossible. She was increasingly pissed about that. No matter; she had a couple of summer interns she’d contact as soon as she was back to her room.

After necessity drove her to venture out into the heat to grab a salad from a nearby pizza joint, she came back with a new-found appreciation for her chosen profession and the fact that most of her time was spent in the climate-controlled indoors. Even if a lot of the work was drudgery.

At the end of the day, she stood up to stretch, and really looked around. It was a beautiful old library, carrying the familiar must of old tomes, and decorated with artwork and photographs of local scenery and people. _Locals in photos?_ _Perhaps one had the mayor in it._

She gathered up her stuff and grabbed the microfilm boxes to return.

“Hi! Thanks for all the microfilm help. I don’t think I introduced myself: Emma Swan from the Globe.”

“Belle French,” said the woman behind the desk clad in a mini plaid skirt and dress shirt. “I’m the head librarian.”

“I’m working on an in-depth story about travel to Storybrooke. I was wondering if you had any pictures of local officials hanging on the walls? I intend to talk with most of them this week or next — nice to put a face to the name, right?”

“We actually do! Follow me.” Belle directed her to a wall of the library near a glassed-in room full of computers and tech equipment. Nearby, a photo was mounted on a plaque dated November 2003, with an inscription reading: “ _ Many thanks to the generous donation of a new computer lab from The Tuesday Night Club, pictured Left to Right: Robin Locksley, William Smee, David Nolan, Killian Jones, Liam Jones, B. Gold, Sidney Glass _ .”

Wow. This was a handsome lot of men. There were the rakish good looks of the bearded Robin. This was the first shot she’d seen of Mr. Smee, a jolly looking man who she had learned worked with Killian in his administration. David Nolan — not the sheriff at the time — looked as clean-cut as ever. There was Killian, who had no facial hair as he did now, which made him look far more innocent than he probably was. Liam wasn’t nearly as full of humor as he had been in Mary Margaret’s pictures, although his resemblance to Killian was more evident here. Mr. Gold had a striking face, but was ever-so-serious. He looked familiar in a way she couldn’t place. The man on the end was the same one she’d seen Killian speaking to outside of Granny’s — Sidney Glass.

“The Tuesday Night Club?” Emma said wonderingly.

“Those guys have been getting together for years to play cards on Tuesdays,” the librarian answered from close behind. “Along with others, here and there, but this is the core. Well, minus Liam and Robin now, I suppose,” she added sadly.

Liam had died, Emma knew, but what had happened to Robin? She filed the thought away for later. “Handsome group.”

“Yeah, I’ll say,” Belle sighed.

Emma turned to her. “How would a bunch of guys who ostensibly just trade money with each other find the money to buy a bunch of computers and equipment?”

Belle knitted her brows. “I never really thought of that. Maybe one of them brought something of value to the poker game, Gold won, and sold it in his shop for a nice sum? Maybe he donated using that money?” She didn’t sound certain at all.

“Is Mr. Gold charitable as a rule, Ms. French?”

“Have you met him?”

Emma shook her head.

“Well, if you do, you might not think it, but he  _ does  _ have kindness beneath what you may find to be a very enigmatic exterior, Ms. Swan.”

“That’s nice to hear.” Emma didn’t want to push it. She could see from the soft look in her eyes when she spoke of him that getting information about Gold from Belle would be fruitless. “Maybe one of the Jones brothers had the money.”

“Oh, they weren’t the richest guys, so I don’t know where they’d have gotten that kind of money. I think, back then, Killian had just gotten back from college, and Smee was at the shipyards, while Glass worked as a teller at the bank. David was still going to college but came home during his breaks.”

Belle tipped her head up, looking away in thought. “Actually, after Liam passed away, there might have been some money because I vaguely recall Killian mentioning it. I’m not sure, though. And that was after the computer lab.”

Rather than appear too eager about this subject and spark any alarm bells for Belle, Emma just said, “Mmmm. Thanks. That’s interesting.”

“Do you need anything else, Ms. Swan?”

“No, thank you. This is fantastic.”

The librarian smiled warmly and turned away. Emma feigned interest in the other photos, but after checking to make sure Belle had disappeared out of sight, she pulled out her phone and snapped a photo of the plaque.

Then she gathered all her printouts and notes and left to get some take-out for an evening of reading back at her room.

~~~~

A ring sounded from inside his desk and the man lurched, quickly cutting off his staff meeting and ushering them out of the room. A sense of dread pooled in the pit of his stomach.

He slid out the drawer, palmed the phone and noted the “Unknown” sender. Huffed out a breath.

“I thought you had the situation under control,” the sharp voice came at him through the earpiece.

“I did,” he whispered, glancing at the space under his door to make sure no one was listening.

“I’m feeling a distinct lack of confidence in your abilities. Are you quite certain what you’ve been doing is sufficient?”

“I spent the better part of the last year trying to keep certain people from scrutinizing the books and the better part of the last week hiding all I knew to hide.” He put as much confidence into his voice as he could muster.

“Then why is there a reporter currently making copies of archival newspaper articles and asking about us?”

“What?”

“Make it go away.”

“Make it go away or you’ll make her go away like you did with the others?“

A loud hiss on the other end of the line cut his question off. “You need to be more careful about what you say and how, friend.”

“We haven’t been friends for a long time.”

The responding laugh sent shivers down his spine. “Did I see you out with a lady companion the other night? Pretty woman, she was. Dark hair, nice eyes.”

“You’ve made it impossible for me to get close to anyone. Whoever that was, it was no one of any consequence.”

“Now, now. If you want to meet someone, settle down; that’s perfectly acceptable. Just make sure you keep up your end of the deal and I’ll keep mine. Otherwise ...” 

He didn’t appreciate the implied warning. Hadn’t enough lives been ruined? Nothing he had done to stop this had worked. “I’m on it.”

He hit the red button and tossed the phone back into his drawer. Emma Swan was going to destroy everything he’d been working towards. 

It was time to end this.

~~~~


	4. Chapter 4

_ Nothing like a run to put you in a good mood _ , Emma thought, wiping away a trickle of sweat from her temple. The clock tower showed 6:30. Storybrooke was lovely at this time of day, when the sun rising over the clapboard homes and brick businesses cast an almost magical glow. She was already quite fond of the sight. It was also magical that the temperature had a good fifteen degrees to go until it hit the predicted high for the day of ninety-five.

An hour until she was supposed to call Lily. Plenty of time.

For the first time in a week, Emma felt upbeat. There were now pages of notes about the Jones election and administration. Plus, she’d started to adjust to the eccentricities of small-town life. It was a little suffocating at times — with everyone looking for their ten minutes of fame in her “Globe story” — but people were generally nice. Best of all, she had managed to avoid another run-in with the mayor.

Rounding the corner of the schoolhouse, she thought of her new friend. Emma had decided to stop using Mary Margaret to get intel for her story within hours of their first meeting, and instead had spent time sharing coffee and listening to the cheerful schoolteacher wax poetic about her upbringing in this little town. It was a dangerous game Emma was playing with herself — pressing her nose to the glass of a life she had never lived. It was the stuff of fairy tales ... of fantasies she wove for herself from the top bunk of her room in the group home, wrapped in a worn-out baby blanket embroidered by a mother she’d never known. She knew she had to keep this fantasy at arm’s length, or she was going to get hurt. And the same went for any involving Killian Jones.

Her lungs had started to seize, and not because of exercise. She stopped and inhaled deeply, to clear the inconvenient thoughts from her head. The air smelled of salt water, mud flats, and just a hint of fish rot; oddly, it comforted her. Having recovered from her momentary anxiety, she set off again. After that, her only focus was on the crunch of the pebbles beneath her shoes. Nothing else.

She’d reached Storybrooke Harbor. Here she could get lost in the enchanting sound of boat hulls bumping against moorings. Passing the main dock of the marina across the street from her inn, she smiled at the elegant wooden ship docked there. It was the kind you see in the movies — two masts, blue and red stripes down the sides, and scrollwork on the stern; it lent an almost mystical quality to the scene.  _ Was it here permanently or only seasonally?  _ Perhaps she could arrange to get a closer look at some point.

With the sharp edge of a cramp creeping up her leg, she levered one foot onto the low wall that ran parallel to the water to get in a nice deep stretch. She glanced at her phone: 7:15. A full thirty minutes longer than usual. She hoped Lily wouldn’t mind her calling late this morning.

A flicker of movement at the far side of the marina caught her eye.

_Oh hell._ _Of all the fucking dumb luck._ It was the mayor. And he was jogging in her direction.

Emma quickly looked around for some escape route that didn’t call attention to her presence and found nothing. So she slid down to the ground directly behind the wall, under the pretense of stretching. She glanced up to see if he had noticed the movement. He hadn’t. He was facing the other way now, hands on his knees, breathing heavily. Why the fuck was she brought to this? Hiding from this man? She was disgusted with herself.

After a moment’s pause, he ran his hands down to his waist and tugged at the hem of his grey t-shirt.  _ Oh Lord. _ He was taking it off. Her arms froze in mid-stretch above her thighs. She could look right? No harm in that.

His shirt was wrapped around his neck. Shifting swells of muscle ran from his toned shoulders down the length of his back, ending in small hollows a few inches above his waistband. Biting her lip, she was thankful he had no idea how much she appreciated what those running shorts did for his ass.

Eyes to the harbor, he ran his hand through his mess of sweaty hair and absently scratched at his ear. The hair on top of his head flopped back down towards his face, and Emma wanted so badly to set it right.

She shook her head in irritation. At herself. Or maybe at the fact that he actually existed.  _ Really?!?  _ It’s not like she didn’t have a hunch what he looked like under all those expensive suits. But yet again, with Killian Jones, she was proven that imagination was clearly no match for the real thing.

He wiped his face with the t-shirt and strolled off down one of the docks. Emma released a breath she hadn’t known she had been holding.

Behind her she heard someone clear their throat and she jumped in surprise. “Miss Swan.”

She looked up to find the attractive brunette who had been talking with the mayor outside Granny’s, dressed in a fitted black suit and sunglasses, moving to sit on the wall. Images from numerous articles she had read slid to the front of her mind, and she realized she was face-to-face with the previous mayor of Storybrooke: Regina Mills.

Emma pressed herself up and took a seat a few feet away, taking another quick look down the docks to make sure Killian was gone. An envelope, thick with papers and bound with a string, was pushed towards her.

“Uh. Okay, Agent M,” she joked. “Is this my dossier?”

The woman didn’t even crack a smile, speaking in a clipped, brusque voice, “Excuse me? You’re here for the corruption story. I have something for you.”

“Let’s start this again. My name is Emma Swan, and you are?” She held out her hand, courteous yet assertive. Emma was investing hours upon hours of her time following up on this woman’s lead. Now she had tailed her only to give her more papers to go through. Emma at least deserved the courtesy of a polite introduction.

The brunette glanced at the parking lot, then back to Emma. “Regina Mills. I’m Neal’s source.”

“You’re Neal’s source? How do you know him?” The revelation hadn’t come as a total shock, now that she heard it out loud. From what she’d read there was no love lost between Mills and Jones.

Regina narrowed her eyes at Emma. Was that irritation or assessment? “I don’t see how that’s relevant, do you? All that matters is after my call, he was convinced there was a story.”

Emma’s eyebrow raised. “Ooo-kay. That’s oddly evasive.”

Regina just said, impatiently, “Take a look at these. If you need to reach me, don’t call me at work. Use the number on the envelope.”

Inside, Emma found financial documents and a couple phone call lists. She would probably need some help deciphering some of them. 

“Thanks for these, but seriously, what is with this cloak and dagger crap? This is a newspaper article about small town politics. I’m not busting an international drug cartel. No one is coming for you.”

“Small towns, Miss Swan. Full of people too nosy for their own good.”

She bit back a retort about how Regina seemed to be the source of half the gossip, from all she knew. Instead, she said, “I’m always discreet.”

“Glad to hear it. You’ll need to be on this Mayor Jones story. He’s got these people here fooled into thinking he’s the good guy.”

Emma mulled over the phrase:  _ this Mayor Jones story _ . By now she had read a great number of articles detailing some of the nastier things Ms. Mills had said about her opponent during the election. She had no doubt that  _ Regina  _ believed the worst of Killian Jones. Maybe there was something there. It was too early to tell for sure. Still, she had a niggling suspicion that all of this might simply be a continuation of a smear campaign by the vengeful former mayor. That didn’t mean Emma wouldn’t do her job. But she wasn’t going to play the fool to Regina either. Come to think of it, it wouldn’t hurt to do a little digging into  _ her  _ past.

“Is it possible he is a good guy, Ms. Mills?”

She sneered. “You have the audacity to ask me that? I saw where your attention was when I walked up. I wouldn’t want you to get  _ distracted _ while you’re here. Although you wouldn’t be the first, and I daresay, not the last, to let his looks warp your judgement.”

That was enough of that. She wouldn’t have this complete stranger impugn her reputation. “I am fully capable of writing a thorough and unbiased story. I’ll look these over and get in touch when I have something.”

“We shall see. You should know that I contacted Neal because he was the best investigative journalist I could find. It was with reservations that I accepted his offer of working with someone he swore was equal in abilities. You’ll find I rarely take anything at face value. Don’t make me regret this.”

She’d asked Neal first? Weird. Why hadn’t he taken the assignment himself?

“I’ve never failed to find out the whole truth,” Emma said.

“We’ll see. I’ve got a friend at the Herald, too. I’m sure he will be more than happy to take over if you can’t make this happen.” Regina rose abruptly.

Emma stood up to meet her eyes. “I don’t take kindly to threats. You will have your story, one way or the other. But I won’t cut corners to get it. These things take time.”

“Your time here is finite, Miss Swan. Use it wisely,” she said, nodding in the direction Mayor Jones had walked, before leaving.

Emma watched her get into the driver’s side of a black BMW, and pull away.

_ Well. That was an interesting development.  _ She glanced quickly through the documents again, mentally flagging the ones she’d talk about with Lily.

Lily Page and Emma had both been in the system together from birth. When they were old enough to have the wherewithal to slip away from less than ideal foster situations and live on the streets, they did so with regularity, much to the chagrin of their case workers. In order to keep a roof over their heads and food in their stomachs during those times before they were caught, they teamed up. Emma had always been the one with the fast fingers — quick with the lockpick, undetectable in snatch and grab. Whereas,. Lily was a whiz with computers and math from an early age. Money laundering and hacking were her specialties.

When her birth mom, Mal, found her after turning her own life around, she inspired her to go straight, and helped pay for Lily to get her GED and degree. Now Lily worked for a big accounting firm in Boston. Partly due to Mal and Lily’s influence, Emma’s life had also followed the same course, and for that she was grateful. Mal was the closest thing to a mother figure Emma had; or perhaps, more like wiser, older sister. She was only sixteen when she had Lily. 

Although they both made their living entirely above board now, there was  _ one  _ carryover from their misspent youth: Emma could still rely on her friend to not snitch. Not a bad trait, when assisting an investigative reporter.

She only hoped her friend would also be understanding, because she was going to be a half-hour late to their call.

~~~~

“I’m sending the files express mail to you today. You’re supposed to get them by tomorrow morning, Lily.” Emma hit send on a text. “Here’s the tracking number.”

“Got it. Did you send them to my apartment?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll take a look at them right away and let you know what I find.” There was the sound of a paper bag crinkling and then Lily continued, munching on some food. “So how are things with Neal? Has he finally manned up and called you back?”

“Are you eating one of those Chips Ahoy creme donuts? Damn, I could really go for one of those right now. They don’t have them up here.”

“You’re dodging the question Emma. And yes,” she snorted, “I am. And it’s marvelous.”

Emma wanted to stand up for Neal — honestly, she did — but she was starting to get a bit annoyed that he wouldn’t just bite the bullet and hear her out. She didn’t want to say that to Lily, though. She had never liked Neal, and Emma had already had to put up with Lily gloating about being right about him more than once.

Emma sighed; resigned. “He doesn’t want to hear what I have to say. Worse, I’ve really needed his help on this story and he hasn’t been there for me.”

There was a huff of breath on the other end of the phone, “How long have you been trying to talk to him?”

“About three weeks now. He was on assignment and then when he got back, I was on my way here.”

“He is such an asshole.”

“Hey!” Emma said.

She could almost hear Lily’s shrug. “You know it’s true. Remember when you were on the sex abuse story and Neal got all hotheaded with that whistleblower, thinking he was going to back out, and then wound up getting the guy fired? Eighty years old and no job, no house, no medical.”

“Yeah. That  _ was  _ shitty.”

“My favorite is how he secretly weaseled into the editor job, without telling you. And when you tried to get him to reconsider taking a job that would make him your boss, he brushed you off.”

“I am not breaking up with him because it’s going well, you know? Obviously there are reasons.”

“Obviously. Ah well. You’ll see him soon. He can’t avoid you forever. It’s not like you’re in danger of cheating on him, anyway.”

No, she wasn’t going to say it. She was  _ not _ going to talk to Lily about the mayor, because she knew what she would tell Emma to do, and Emma was absolutely going to disagree. Lily’s mind seemed to permanently reside in the gutter. She tried to sound convincing but her natural voice got lost on the way to her mouth. “Right. Absolutely.”

“Whoa whoa whoa. What was that?”

“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit. There was a pause. Why did you pause? Emma, I know you. Spill.”

Emma’s mind drifted to Killian leaning against the bookshelf of the library, all innuendo and flirtation. Shirt off at the docks, looking like he belonged on the cover of a magazine. A  _ dirty  _ magazine. She exhaled. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Who is he?”

“Some guy I met when I was out to eat.” She didn’t want to admit it was the man who she was currently investigating — whose balance sheets Lily was about to tear apart.

“Is he hot?”

“What difference does it make?”

“Humor me. I’m in a dry spell. Is he hot?”

“Yes.” God yes. “What’s a dry spell for you. A week?”

“Ha ha. Stop deflecting. And he’s not married?”

“No.”

Lily took another bite of something, and came back with, “Is he straight? Bi?”

“From all I’ve seen, he at least dates women.  _ Lots  _ of women.”

“You need to hit that, Emma. Sounds like a great candidate for unencumbered mutual fulfillment. Right? Like, you’re gone in weeks. Who cares if he’s a cad. He’s probably really skilled. When was the last time you had good sex?”

“I don’t know. Three — no — four months ago.”

“That’s sad. I bet it was missionary too. Neal strikes me as a plain vanilla sort of guy.”

“He is not,” Emma said. She hoped Lily couldn’t hear the lie.

“Don’t bother denying it. You need a little spice. That man you met. What do you suppose he is? I bet he’s a cinnamon sort of guy.”

“I can’t- I can’t even think about what spice he is or isn’t, Lily. I’m still technically with Neal. This guy is just pretty hair, nice ass, and bravado. That’s all. I don’t have time for that. I need to focus on this story.”

“Well I’m going to look at these numbers of yours, then you’re going to write the story of a lifetime, and  _ then _ you can grab his nice ass and bang his brains out.” She was laughing now.

Emma groaned. “He  _ knows  _ everyone wants to bang him. Hell, everyone probably has banged him. I’m telling you — his ego is a mile wide. And apparently he has a fancy suit fetish. Not my type.”

“Sounds like the beginning of every erotic novel I’ve ever read, Swan.”

“Okay, Lily. I’m hanging up now.”


	5. Chapter 5

Emma was sitting across from Mary Margaret, picking at the remains of her brunch.

Saturday had been busy, what with the Deep Throat act from Ms. Mills, the unexpected exposure of mayoral assets at the docks, Lily’s sexual pep talk, and a  _ lot _ of looking at files and archive articles.

With all the government buildings closed and only a quiet hike through the forest on her docket, she expected Sunday was going to be a great day to refresh and recharge. Little did she know, Mary Margaret was riding on an entirely different vibe ... and it was anything but quiet. It was actually quite refreshing, getting a chance to see a mischievous side of her. 

“So, when the hunters went back to their truck to get their breakfast, I snuck out and shot an arrow right through the rope holding the trap together.” Mary Margaret giggled and took a sip of her tea.

“And you actually hit it?”

“Yep. That poor rabbit ran away at top speed. I just couldn’t bear the thought of that sweet animal on someone’s dinner plate.”

Emma chuckled. Who knew the demure teacher had this in her? “I would have never taken you for an expert marksman.”

“I know, right? I had this thing for Robin Hood when I was a kid. Kevin Costner was just dreamy. So, I begged my dad to let me take archery lessons. He was a big softie when it came to me, so of course he let me do it. I went all in. Took lessons for years. Competitions and stuff.”

“Well, I bet the hunters in the area were not pleased — traps getting destroyed, arrows all over the place.”

“They were not,” she said, eyebrow raised. “My father laid into me about how he had to keep buying me new arrows and what was I-”

The door to Granny’s opened and closed behind Emma, and Mary Margaret stopped talking for a moment, her mouth slightly open. Emma turned around to see what had stolen her friend’s attention.

A tall, sandy-haired man was approaching the counter, sporting a fitted grey-blue shirt and jeans with a leather belt, to which was attached a badge.  _ The sheriff,  _ Emma noted. He certainly had matured into his face well. He looked far less innocent than the pictures she’d seen, in a good way.

Seeing the expression on Mary Margaret’s face, everything clicked into place. She thought she had picked up on  _ something _ the other day when there was talk of David Nolan, but now she  _ knew _ .

Emma gave her newfound friend a minute as she tried to catch his attention — half-waving at him and smiling cheerfully. It was hard to miss the warmth of the smile he gave Mary Margaret in response before he left with his coffee and paper take-out bag. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that there was mutual affection there.

“So ... Sheriff Nolan?”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t think to introduce you. He, uh-” She was blushing wildly, and Emma didn’t want to push her.

However, Mary Margaret was in the mood to spill a little.

“I’ve known him for ages, you know? Of course, he’s with Kathryn, but once upon a time I had quite the thing for him.”

_ She has quite the thing for him  _ now, Emma thought.

Her new friend leaned closer, glanced around, and whispered, “It was a bit more than that, actually. We were always flirting in high school. And then, there was this time we were on the Jolly Roger for a school trip and I-” she cut herself off — even more red, if that was possible — and bit her lip.

“What? Oh, no. You can’t leave me hanging like that.” Emma waggled her eyebrows at Mary Margaret, leaning in to coax her. “What is it? What did you do? And what’s the Jolly Roger?”

“It’s that ship out there at Storybrooke Marina. The big one? They use it for day trips. It’s like a rite of passage, taking a trip on that boat. Liam used to captain it when I was in high school. He was so much fun. Sometimes he and Killian would dress up in costumes and do a theme cruise.”

The nature of the costumes was irrelevant, but Emma found herself needing to know regardless. She bit her lip as she asked, suspecting no good could come of it. “What kind of costumes?”

“You know, pirate stuff — leather waistcoat and pants, swords, and guyliner. The kind of stuff that made the girls go crazy for them.” She grinned and took a bite of her muffin.

_ Pirates. _ Emma found it surprisingly easy to envision him in that get-up. Leather, guyliner, boots. He had that look of impiety about him, despite his formal trappings. And that accent. Her mouth went dry.

“I can imagine they did. Were you a part of that fan club?”

“Liam and Killian were so great to us, but — no — I’ve never been much for pirates. Besides, all I could think about was David.”

“What was this thing that happened with him?” Emma asked.

“Well, my friends and I had this bet going: who would get to second base first with our crushes. I don’t even remember why. It was probably Ruby’s idea.” She pointed to the waitress with the bright red dye in her hair and even brighter lips. At their glances, Ruby waved from across the room cheerfully, then went back to marrying ketchups.

“So we were all on this field trip together senior year. Maybe it was something about being out on the open sea or the mystique of that ship that got to me. I really don’t know. But I had gone below decks to use the bathroom and wanted to take a peek at the rest of the ship. There I was, standing in the galley, and in walks David. He says he’s lost.” She wrinkled her nose and rolled her eyes. “Totally a lie. I’m pretty sure he followed me down.”

Emma grinned, “And?”

“There he was in that room with me, making small talk, and all of the sudden it was like a switch was flipped in us. You could cut the tension like a knife. He got this look on his face — real serious — and he asked if it would be alright if he kissed me. Of course, I said yes. There was this moment when everything seemed to stop and then ... oh boy.”

“He kissed you?”

She waggled her brows at Emma, speaking conspiratorially. “It was a lot more than kissing. At first, it was very innocent, but something came over me — teenage hormones, I guess. I backed him into the counter and really went for it. There was a lot of groping and heavy breathing. Who knows how far we might have gone, if it weren’t for the fact we thought we heard someone coming!”

“Wow! What happened after that?”

“Nothing. I was so embarrassed that I kind of avoided him for a while. And then, when I saw him again, I think he was angry with me, or upset, so ... ” She gazed out the window in the direction he had left.

“Sorry to hear.”

“Well, we both went away to college and I guess we forgot about each other a bit. Afterwards, when his dad died, he was so overwrought he sort of disappeared for a while. Turns out he went to the police academy. Then he started dating Kathryn Clarke, which is what his father had wanted. It’s probably for the best. We’re good friends now.”

“You think it’s for the best?”

“Yes. I think so. I don’t know.” She sighed.

Emma just patted her hand. She had no clue what advice she could give to Mary Margaret. She barely knew what she was doing in her own love life. Why wouldn’t Neal just respond to her? It was like this loose end that she could not tie up ... and it was getting ridiculous.

“Well, you only live once, Mary Margaret. Just as long as neither of you regrets not trying again.”

She smiled, not answering.

Emma downed the last bit of coffee, pulling out some money. “So! Is it time to hit the trails?”

“Absolutely.”

~~~~

Storybrooke Town Forest was as lovely as Mary Margaret had said, so the hike was enjoyable. Who knew that so close to the shore there were deep ravines, big hills, and ancient hardwood groves? It was also much cooler in there, which made it even more pleasant. Conversation mostly focused on the flora and fauna, and that was fine by Emma. She was happy for the diversion.

On their way back to their cars, they bumped into William Smee, her second connection with someone from the library photo that day. Mary Margaret made the cheerful introductions, while Emma took note of the way he never quite made eye contact.

Emma stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you. I saw your picture on the wall of the library when I was in there yesterday. ‘The Tuesday Night Club’.”

Mary Margaret giggled. “I haven’t heard that name before.”

The man looked like he wished he could pull his cap down over his face and disappear. “We don’t really use that name. Just had to come up with something for the picture, you know? Robin thought it up. We thought it was funny.”

“Hmm. Anyway, you all looked pretty chummy,” Emma said, hoping to get a thread to pull on.

“Did we? I’ve known the Jones’ for a while. Killian’s like family to me.”

“Mary Margaret tells me that happens a lot around here. Everyone is like family. How lovely.”

Mr. Smee stilled his eyes and focused on her, blinking slowly. “Now that Liam is gone, I’d do anything for Killian. And him for me. Working for him — it’s the best job I could ask for.”

“You’re his comptroller, right?”

Mary Margaret cut in. “He is! He’s really done a fantastic job from what I’ve heard.”

Blush creeped into Smee’s cheeks. “Thanks Ms. Blanchard. I do my best.”

“Do you mind if I stop by tomorrow?” Emma asked. “I wanted to ask a couple questions, on the record.”

“From me? For a travel story?” Smee said, making it clear he knew who she was already. She was no longer surprised when the gossip about her and her article preceded her.

“I’m thorough.”

He looked down at his feet, kicking a stone back and forth with his toe. “I don’t know. It’s really a bad time at work right now. So many reports to do.”

“I won’t take but a minute of your time,” Emma said sweetly. God, the amount of buttering up she needed to do was irritating.

“Maybe in a couple weeks you can give me a call?” Smee suggested.

“Two weeks?” Emma tried to keep the incredulity out of her voice.

Mary Margaret put her hand on Smee’s arm and he visibly relaxed. “Now, William. Don’t you think you could spare just a teensy bit of time for Emma? It would mean a lot to me.”

He sighed. “Tomorrow’s kind of hectic, but how about Wednesday?” he said, less than enthused.

“10 on Wednesday, then?” Emma said.

He hesitated and then replied, “Sure. Gotta run now.”

The man literally jogged to his car.

Mary Margaret whispered to Emma, “He’s always kind of twitchy. Just his thing.”

_ Yeah,  _ she thought.  _ Hiding something seems to be his thing. _

~~~~


	6. Chapter 6

Emma wanted to catch David Nolan while he was still on his lunch hour, so she picked up her pace.

It was hot and humid, and she was feeling a bit fuzzy. She ran over the questions she had for the sheriff in her mind, making sure she had her facts straight. Passing the station’s parking lot, she was happy to find the Sheriff’s truck still in its space. That meant there was a good chance he was inside.

She breezed into the station, riding high on the hope that she might crack this story and make the next deadline. Then she could get home, break-up, and move on. It was with her mind fixed on that indeterminate future that she ran headlong into a wall. Or at least that’s what it felt like.

She flung out her arms to steady herself, finding purchase on ... someone’s waist. The other person grasped her by the forearms to keep from falling as well. 

The first thing she saw was the dark grey pinstriped sleeves and anchor cufflinks. Emma steeled herself and scanned upwards slowly. It was precisely who she suspected, of course, because the gods were intent on fucking with her. He wore another winning combination of perfectly fitted suit, skillfully untidy hair, and trimmed scruff. 

In seconds, his face went from wide-eyed shock to amusement.

“Miss Swan. You know, if you had wanted to run into me you needn’t be so literal about it,” said Killian Jones, continuing with a smirk, “although I am partial to this approach.”

Her hands were still on his waist, a situation that was not so easily rectified, as he was securely attached to her arms and seemed loath to return them to her. She wished she could appear unaffected, but her traitorous face was on fire — a serious battle between attraction and propriety waging. He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, like she wished she could do, and released her arms.

His suit was incredibly wrinkled where her hands had been gripping and, with a muttered apology, she tried to smooth the fabric. Given how pristine it looked everywhere she hadn’t touched, she figured him for the type who dry cleaned everything after one wear and color-coded his closet. She felt his stomach muscles tense beneath her palms, and his ribcage stilled; he was holding his breath. Unfortunately for her, she could envision what was under that shirt now. Her own breathing stalled out. She looked up and found his eyes dark and penetrating.

Emma backed away from him and inhaled, trying to slow the rapid beating of her heart. “Didn’t watch where I was walking. Hope that doesn’t wrinkle.”

His eyes tracked down to his coat. “Looks like you’ve set it to rights, aye?”

“Aye,” she joked. The awkward silence stretched, and not knowing what else to say, she began to walk away.

“Hold on. You seem to have lost your satchel, love.” Her heart skittered at the term of endearment. He’d used it before; she suspected he used on every woman he met. Yet some piece of her softened every time he said it, and it rattled her to know that.

He picked up her bag and, looking pleased with himself, lifted the top of the strap over her left shoulder. To do so, he had to lean towards her, his body carrying with it the crisp and leathery scent of ... perhaps a scented soap? She closed her eyes, breathed. Not to calm herself. No. This was entirely indulgence. Lucky for her, his eyes were on her shoulder. Had he seen her face, he wouldn’t have let that little moment go, that was for sure. After adjusting the bag so it sat squarely, he ran his fingers down the length of her arm and delicately lifted her hand up and through the hole, before dropping it to rest on top of the bag.

She tried to swallow down the mass in her throat. “Thank you.”

“Are you alright?”

_ No. I’m not alright. You’re making me a nervous wreck,  _ she thought _.  _ “Yes. I’m fine.”

“Aren’t you a tad uncomfortable in those long pants and leather boots? It’s hotter than mol-”

“I didn’t realize how hot it was going to be when I packed,” she said defensively. “It was in the seventies in Boston. I only brought one pair of shorts.”

“Not trying to criticize. It’s just that you look a little flushed. I quite like your ensemble. Suits you.”

“Okay. You have a very nice-”  _ Pick something non-sexual _ , she thought. She had to steer the conversation away from anything resembling flirtation. “-tie.”

“The tie?” He chuckled. “Thank you. I don’t often wear them, but I had a meeting.” He reached up to scratch behind his ear, which she realized was a nervous tick. “I take it you are here to visit the head of local law enforcement, then?”

Her disquiet was settled somewhat by the shift to shop-talk. “That’s right.”

“Mmm. For your article.”

His sly expression let her know he still wasn’t fooled. She couldn’t fault him for his intelligence, she supposed. In fact, she found it rather appealing. It was a shame that he was potentially using it for criminal reasons.

“Absolutely,” she said. “It’s always good to get information about crime in an area you may be suggesting to visitors from afar.”

“You’ve been here for at least a week, Miss Swan. Do you honestly think there is a serious crime problem in Storybrooke?” He sounded annoyed.

“That’s what I’m here to find out.”

“You don’t need to talk to the sheriff about that. We publish our crime statistics right in the police blotter, and I know you’ve read the Daily Mirror.”

“It’s still nice to get an insider’s viewpoint.” Were they going to keep playing this game? She could do this all day.

“You should try being honest for a change. You might get farther with whatever story you really came to write.”

“Sheesh. Are you always this touchy?”

He narrowed his eyes and smirked, “Do you want me to be?”

She sighed heavily. “Look. I’m sure the women love this ...  _ thing _ ,” she motioned up and down in his general direction,  _ “ _ you do here, but not me. So you can just stop.”

“What women? Are you implying I am a scoundrel when it comes to the ladies?”

“That is exactly what I’m implying.”

“Perhaps I am. Perhaps, however, upon further acquaintance, you may revise your assessment.” He half-smiled, lifting his brow and cocking his head. 

_ If only you knew how much I already know about you, Killian Jones, _ she thought and smirked.

A prickle on the back of her neck told her they weren’t alone. She looked over Killian’s left shoulder and found they now had an audience of two, watching them through the glass door leading to the precinct. How long had they been there? One of them was the sheriff and the other was a bit shorter with longish grey-brown hair, a black suit and a cane. Another of the men from the library plaque: Mr. Gold.

David was looking between Killian and her, wearing a considering expression.  _ Whoa whoa whoa. _ She absolutely did not want to give the sheriff the impression she had anything going on with his best friend.

“Well, then, Mayor Jones-” she said, rather formally, and raised her hand to shake his.

“Killian,” he said, and winked; not helping her cause at all.

_ Seriously? _ Trying to form a response, she found no ready retort. There was an awkward moment where she thought since he hadn’t taken her hand, perhaps she should half-embrace him. Or, she didn’t know, wave? He was definitely considering his exit strategy as well. But the sheriff came out to greet her and she gladly sidestepped Killian and walked towards him, hand outstretched.

“Emma Swan, with the Boston Globe, and you must be Sheriff Nolan.”

“Yes. Saw you in the diner with Mary Margaret.” He took her hand in his and shook it. “You can call me David.”

She smiled. “Sure. Okay.”

“So, you two know each other?” David asked.

“Aye,” Killian said, at the same time Emma said — a bit too loud, “Not really.”

The sheriff chuckled. “I see.”

If she could have groaned right then, she would have. “Do you have a moment to talk, Sheriff?”

“Sure, come on in. Killian. I thought you had a meeting to get to?” Sheriff Nolan said, still amused.

“As a matter of fact I do. I have mayoral  _ stuff _ to get on with,” he said, quoting Emma from the library. She side-eyed him. The man had a memory like an elephant, it seemed.

“Enjoy your meeting, Mr. Mayor.” There was more than a little edge to her voice. Why did he keep turning up and throwing her off her game?

“Yes. I hope your day is most productive,  _ Mayor Jones _ ,” the sheriff said in an exaggerated, high-brow accent.

Killian laughed heartily, playing along. “Goodbye,  _ Sheriff Nolan _ . Miss Swan.” He tipped an invisible hat at them, and nodded. She intentionally avoided watching him as he left.

Emma followed David into the central room of the police station. A handful of older metal desks, ostensibly for deputies, officers, and other staff were spaced through the center of the room. It had that well-worn look of all small-town government facilities, like they’d probably been remodeled sometime in the late ‘80s and nobody felt the need to do it again. The room was currently empty. Almost. She’d turned back to look at the doorway, and Mr. Gold remained standing to the side, eyes on her. None of the amusement on the Sheriff’s face had made it into his expression. His face was placid and unreadable, eyes trained on her.

“Hello, Miss Swan.” The man’s voice had an edge to it that was almost taunting.

“Mr. Gold.” Two could play that game. What an odd duck. “It appears you already know who I am.”

“I make it my business to know everyone in this town,” he said, rubbing a thumb across the top of his cane.

“What business is that? Coroner ... mortician ... or ... ?” Emma joked. Surely the man had some humor?

David sniggered.

Gold wasn’t laughing. “I dabble in this and that. Real estate, rare artifacts, estate items, valuable antiquities.”

“Is that your ship out there? The Jolly Roger? I’ve been wanting to take a tour of it.”

He paused, then continued. “No. Nobody is sure who owns it. It’s held in trust.”

Emma nodded. The way this man talked gave her seriously weird vibes — he was holding back something from her. She threw out a line. “Maybe one of the other members of the Tuesday Night Club.”

His hands grasped each other tightly on his cane. “Doubtful. I see you’ve been busy.”

“That’s the only way I know how to be. Speaking of which, I have to speak to Sheriff Nolan now.”

“It was enlightening meeting you.”

_ Enlightening? Oh yeah. Shady. _

“Same here. Talk to you later, Mr. Gold.”

David turned back to Emma, muttering something under his breath as Gold thumped out with his cane. “Quite the character, huh?” he repeated more audibly, after the outer door closed.

“I’ll say. Do you know him well?” Emma asked, feeling strangely like perhaps  _ she  _ knew Gold from somewhere else.

“I’m not sure anyone really knows him well. We play cards. As you said, on Tuesdays. Haven’t heard that name in so long!”

“Seriously? That’s what it says on a plaque under your picture in the library.”

“I had forgotten all about how we called it that for the picture. Yes. Wow. Memories. Anyway, I like to keep my eye on Gold. And I’m pretty sure he’s doing the same with me. Goes with the territory of holding a public office.” He sat down and motioned to the chair in front of his desk. “Speaking of which, you had some questions for me?”

“If you don’t mind, yes. I would love to get some quotes from you for my article.”

“I’d be happy to.” He put his feet up. He looked so at ease, he may as well have had a drink in his hand. This was the most affable law-enforcement officer she’d ever met. 

She slid out her recorder and put it on the table.

“Let’s start with the group we just talked about. Wondering who came up with the idea to donate the computer lab?”

He gave it some thought. “It was probably Killian’s idea. He’s always into charitable projects. The housing commission, food bank, and such. Yeah. It was probably him. That was, you know, over a decade ago. My recollection is not perfect.”

Killian was into working with charities? Was it possible his charity work was a front to deflect attention away from more sinister activities? Were the organization themselves fronts? Or was he truly just doing the work out of the goodness of his heart? Nothing about this man meshed with her initial read of him. 

“I totally understand,” Emma said. “No worries. This is just for color. And it is a fantastic computer lab. I used it a couple days ago. Had to cost a lot. Couldn’t help wondering how this ‘club’ could foot the bill.”

“Odd you should ask because I always wondered about that. Gold just said that he’d been setting aside his winnings for a while and he couldn’t think of a better cause. He wanted us all to get credit since he said he’d won the money from one or another of us over time. Certainly put him in the good graces of the librarian.”

Something was off about all of that. Nolan’s response almost felt like an implicit request to tug more on that line.

“I’ll say. I think dear Miss French has quite the soft spot for Mr. Gold.” Emma winked.

David chuckled. “You  _ have _ been busy, Emma Swan.”

“I suppose I have.”

~~~~

A half an hour later, Emma felt satisfied. She probably had all that she needed for the time being.

That’s not to say that David hadn’t been cagey. She was sure that he and Killian had both agreed she wasn’t writing what she said she was. But it was clear that he also hadn’t pinned down precisely what her motives were, because he had let slip some vital facts.

The first bit of information was regarding Regina’s friend, Sidney. He did nearly all the auditing for the town when she was in office, even though she was a fair hand at numbers herself. Apparently, he had become close with her after the disappearance of her fiancée, Robin. Emma had read about that, but in her own experience, people abandoned their loved ones. Just the way life was, sadly. The guy was probably living the high life in California with a new girlfriend (or boyfriend, you never know), sports car, maybe an earring and fresh tats.

The other lead would either be a wild goose chase or central to the story, and Emma was leaning towards the latter. It had to do with Mr. Gold — apparently rumors had swirled long ago that one or two of his ventures weren’t entirely above-board. _ That _ came as no surprise.

The conversation eventually wound down and shifted into the personal. Emma found that she really enjoyed talking with David; and was surprised to discover that in no time at all, her hour was up. She wondered if he was supposed to be somewhere, as he swiped at what looked like a couple of angry texts during the course of the conversation, choosing not to answer.

Although he wasn’t her type, she could see what her friend was attracted to. He had that rugged charm to him that was probably what Mary Margaret was into, but he also had a wonderfully quick sense of humor. She also suspected that beneath the veneer of the easy-going beer-buddy, he had a rather finely tuned intellect and knew how to get to the heart of the matter. The latter was a trait she had herself and was impressed to see it reflected in this small-town sheriff sitting across from her. Particularly since he was friends with Killian. If a man as clean-cut and intuitive as him was friends with Killian Jones, odds were good he didn’t see anything problematic about the way the mayor was running the town.

“You know what’s essential for any self-respecting tourist? Hitting local hot spots for a night out.”

“I wasn’t aware there was much of a nightlife to speak of, David.”

“Oh no. We are totally hip. We’ve got a great nightlife. Are you free this Saturday evening? Come over to the Rabbit Hole. A bunch of us are getting together around eight.”

She thought about her earlier conversation with Mary Margaret and wondered if she might want to come along. It would be nice for her friend to have time with David, and by accepting the invite she could keep up this farce about the tourism angle. At this point she was playing a game of psychological cat and mouse with him, but until she had all the facts, that was all she could do.

Without a doubt, the mayor would be one of the group gathering at the “totally hip” watering hole on Saturday, and the thought already had her stomach in knots. That was because she knew that Killian was playing an altogether different game with her. In this one, she wasn’t sure what the cat wanted to do with the mouse. Play with it? Release it? Eat it?  _ Eat her.  _ It wasn’t her stomach that felt  _ that  _ thought.  _ Shit.  _ It was bad enough seeing the man in the halls of the police station, but add alcohol and casual attire, and it was going to be a desperate situation. Hoping her thoughts didn’t show on her face, she replied, “I’d love to come.”

“Great! It’s a group date!”

Emma’s palms had grown sweaty just thinking about Saturday. “Uh. Yeah. Thanks for your time,” Emma stood up and waved to keep from shaking David’s hand. She was going to have to stop overthinking everything that had to do with Killian or he was going to throw her off her game.

It was going to be a long week.


	7. Chapter 7

“So what did you find?” Emma asked immediately when Lily picked up.

“Love you, too.”

“Sorry, Lily. I don't really have time for pleasantries. I've got a date with a jittery comptroller in an hour.”

“I understand. Now let’s see.” She heard the sound of papers being moved about, and then Lily came back on the line, “Long story short, your source is right to some extent. There are some very unusual items in the police department budget. Also the waterworks. And land management. Small, nearly equal payments to certain companies. Spread out over long periods of time, so that if someone looked — really looked — they might not notice. But I am not just someone.”

“No, you are not.”

“These companies have no websites, just phone numbers and addresses.”

“Did you call them?”

“I am leaving that to the reporter. You’ll have that information in email right ...” Emma heard a tapping noise. “Now.”

“Okay. What do you think — were they planted for my sake by Regina, or overlooked out of stupidity?”

“No. She wouldn’t have planted them. Some of these, if you go back and look — which I did, and she obviously didn’t — showed up in  _ her  _ administration’s financials. This is long running. Who does the financials now?”

“Depends on the department, but I suppose Mr. Smee does a lot of the auditing.”

“Worth looking into that, Emma.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when I talk with him. And the name I texted you last night — Mr. Gold?” Emma picked up a brush and tugged out the damp knots in her hair, putting the phone down on her bed while she did so.

“Now, you know, some of this information comes to me via, shall we say, less than proper channels.”

Emma smiled. “I won’t put it in the article. Just need to know what I’m dealing with.”

“Oh man, he is as suspicious as they come. Has been married. Looks like more than once. He apparently had a dependent once. Can’t find more about that. Files as self-employed. Income is much higher than your run-of-the-mill pawn broker. Is listed as beneficiary on numerous people’s estates and other assets — none of whom are blood relatives. Why is that?”

An image of the brownish-grey-haired gentleman in undertaker’s attire popped into her mind. The way he had looked at her still made her skin crawl.

She grabbed the phone and sat down, the old bed squeaking beneath her. “That is suspicious. For sure. I’m going to have to talk to him again at some point too. But I’m holding off till I have more.”

“Okay. Keep me posted,” Lily said.

“Will do. Hey, if I want to call those companies and still make it to my meeting on time, I’ve got to run.”

“No problem. Later, Emma.”

“Bye, Lily.”

~~~~

At 10 o’clock on the dot, Emma strolled into the large yellow clapboard classic revival structure with faux columns that served as town hall. It was the polar opposite of the bizarrely stark structure that served as city hall back in Boston. Even the inside smelled different. Contrasted with the sterile, cement smell of her city hall, this building carried the slightly musty smell of old wood, old carpets, and long years of use. Of the two, she’d prefer this one. A helpful receptionist directed her to the office of William Smee, Comptroller, second floor, second door on the left. 

She had put on what she thought of as her most feminine, yet formal outfit — a pair of navy slacks and a white sleeveless blouse with a low looping tie. Her hair was in a loose ponytail caught at the back of her neck, with a couple curls dropping to the sides of her face. The finishing touch had been pale pink on her cheeks and a sheer lip gloss. She took a deep breath and centered herself. This guy was going to require her softest façade, and that required more than just looking innocent. 

She was happy she’d chosen this tack, because, despite the fact that they had made plans to meet, Mr. Smee still looked like a deer in headlights when she knocked lightly on his door frame and peered in.

“Is it ten already? Come in, come in.”

Emma helped herself to one of the chairs across from Smee, who sat at his desk with stacks of papers, neatly arranged in piles. He wore a tan suit and yellow dress shirt, his tie askew and his hair just a little bit out of sorts. 

“What can I do for you, Ms. Swan?” He tapped the edges of a couple stacks to make them even straighter.

She went with sticky-sweet charm. “Thanks for giving me some time. You sure look busy.”

“No problem. No problem.”

“I was hoping you might give me a sort of big picture view of what it is like living here in Storybrooke?”

She sat her recorder on the desk. He eyed it and knitted his brows. “Are we recording this?”

“Oh! That? You know, it’s just a force of habit. Do you mind?” She gave him the wide-eyed apologetic look. “It’s so much easier for me to enjoy conversations with people if I’m not constantly taking notes.”

His shoulders visibly relaxed. “No. It’s fine. Where were we? Oh, yes. Living here? I quite enjoy it.”

“Any places you like to patronize on a regular basis?”

“We like the Rabbit Hole for beers. Granny’s for great burgers. Have you tasted the frozen yogurt at Any Given Sundae? It’s phenomenal. Really. I’ve never tasted anything quite as good.”

“Not yet. I do love frozen yogurt, Mr. Smee. I’ll have to try it.” She made a note on her pad, and he glanced over.

He picked up a pen and chewed on it.

She shifted gears ever so slightly and kept her voice light; he still wasn’t at ease and she needed him to be — for now. “You have such an important position here in Storybrooke. Work must keep you so busy. Do you get to go out to these places often? What other sort of things do you like to do in your free time?”

He put his pen down and looked at her, visibly pleased at the compliment. “No, I don’t get to go as often as I’d like. I work here most weekdays until three, and then a lot of evenings and weekends, I help Killian with boat upkeep or tours.”

“Right — the boat.”

“You could call me Killian’s first mate,” he said with a smile.

She returned the smile. Gentle as a lamb. “He still gives tours? He’s captain?”

“Crazy how he finds time, but yes. At least when it’s in port. The owner’s never here. Killian took over local management of the Jolly Roger when his brother Liam died. He hires a lot of seasonal sailors and staff, but it’s just us, otherwise.”

“I’d love to get a tour of the boat sometime, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“It would be my pleasure, Miss Swan,” he said.

“Maybe your friends from your regular game night might want to join us? You know, for fun?” She smiled at him gently.

He stiffened. “Who?”

She flipped through her steno pad and read off some names as he leaned over the desk and tried to catch a glimpse of her notes, “Remember? I asked you about them the other day. Let’s see here. There’s Killian, David Nolan, and then, uh, Glass. And Gold.”

“Yeah. Oh yeah, them.”

“You are friends, right? I understand Glass used to hold your position in Regina’s administration.”

Not meeting her eyes now, he said, “Glass has been helpful to me. He often stops by to give me insight about past audits and accounting.”

“Does he? And Gold?” With this question, she began to let the veil of the saccharine, harmless reporter fall. 

“Gold what?”

“Does he drop by your office often? I saw him at the sheriff’s office Monday. Just dropping by.”

“We don’t know each other that much outside of game nights.”

“Over a decade of game nights, right? Long time to know someone and not ‘know’ someone.”

Before he could respond she rapid-fired another question at him, to throw him off. Her voice was no longer the mirror image of her attire. This was all Emma. “Sure was nice of your group to donate that computer lab to the library. I hear Gold had a big part to play in that.”

Smee looked at a non-existent watch, then the clock on the wall. “I forgot about that. I recall it might have been Gold’s winnings.” He stopped talking abruptly. “What’s that have to do with your story again?”

She knew that question would come, so she’d prepared. “Just want to know who to give credit to when I extol the virtues of the library services in my story.”

“Right,” he said, voice flat.

“Oh! I almost forgot.” She flipped to a page where she had something scrawled. Kudos to Lily for this one. “Does the company ‘Southeast Clearance House’ ring a bell for you? Is that in Storybrooke? That company came up a few times in financials that came out of this office.”

All the color drained from his face. “No. I’m going to have to end the interview now. I have things- things to do.”

“Not going to tell me what that is? Because when I call, I get a machine, and I can’t seem to get reverse look-up to give me an address.” 

A knock at the door had them both jumping.

“Whoa, whoa. Easy there, mateys! Thought I heard your voice, Miss Swan. What brings you to the seat of government of our fine town?" 

It was the mayor. She gritted her teeth. He seemed to show up at the most inopportune times.

“She was just stopping by for a chat, but alas, I have work to be getting on with,” Smee answered for her.

She turned around to find Killian leaning against the doorframe on his shoulder. Despite the formality of his classically cut grey suit and white shirt, his stance had an air of devil-may-care that was not reflected in the rest of his present company. He figured that out pretty quickly, wrinkling his brows. “You look a bit peaky, friend. You get enough sleep last night?”

“Rough night, yeah. Well,” Smee said, standing to shake Emma’s hand. It was disgustingly clammy. “Nice chatting with you.”

She gathered her recorder and her bag and stood up. Smee looked as though he wished he could pitch the notes and recorder into a trash compactor. 

Killian had moved behind her at some point, so that he had to step aside to let her pass. As she began to walk towards the door, she was surprised to feel a warm, gentle pressure on her back. Her body fizzed just a little bit at the point of contact. 

“I’ll see the lady out,” Killian said, keeping his hand on her all the way past the threshold.

“Can you close the door behind you, Killian?” Smee asked.

“Sure.”

The mild weight lifted from her back as he turned to close the door. She stared after him, face crinkling as she tried to make sense of that interview. The whole encounter reminded her of this exposé about mafia ties to the Big Dig she wrote with Neal. Smee came across about as jumpy as some of the mob accountants she’d approached back then.

Killian stopped, took her expression in, then said, “Making more friends, are we?”

“More and more every day,” she quipped, as she left him, aiming for the stairs.

“Something you were talking about clearly set Smee on edge. And you, it seems. Care to tell me?” he said, following close behind.

The hallway was deserted, but more and more she was feeling the need to keep things close to the vest. Even the walls had ears in Storybrooke. There was so much more to say than she  _ actually _ could tell him. 

She turned around, taking in his open and curious expression, the tilt of his head. She  _ had  _ to know what he knew.  _ Screw it.  _

“What’s the Southeast Clearing House?” she asked.

“What?” His brows furrowed. “The Southeast Clearing House? Sounds familiar. Where have I seen that? Is it in Storybrooke?”

There was nothing in the way he held her eyes, in the easy tone of his voice, or in his posture that felt off. He was sincerely perplexed. She didn’t respond, just moved on. Her eyes were trained on him, gauging his reactions.

“How about the Backwater Excavation Company?” Another of the mysterious repeated expenses in the budget.

He looked up and away, thinking. “Not a name I recall. Can you give me a hint as to what these mean?”

Again, she just saw curiosity and perhaps a bit of mild confusion. There wasn’t even a shred of deception. He didn’t seem phased by her lack of response.

“What about Mr. Gold? Do you know where he gets his money?”

“Probably from selling antiques. And from David Nolan — he’s a lousy poker player,” he said amusedly.

She closed her eyes, sighed deeply. She had sought out prevarication and found none. Just that constant, frustratingly natural geniality. Had she not hit on the right question or was he truly uncorrupt? Killian Jones had a knack for making her second-guess herself. She looked at him, aggrieved. “Why do you have to make this so hard?”

He smiled, stepped closer, and flicked the bow hanging on her shirt. “Would you believe you’re the only one I have this particular effect on?”

“I find that hard to believe. Regina Mills doesn’t seem to like you very much.”

“Regina Mills doesn’t like anyone very much.”

“Mr. Jones-”

“Please call me Killian,” he said, pained. “Do you think there will be a time when we can just have a normal conversation? I’d like that.”

“Fine, Killian,” she relented. Why did she ache when she saw that look in his eyes? How could she put this in a way he’d understand? Where to begin? “I have a super-power.”

There was surprise, and then his face brightened. “Please say shape-shifter. So much scope for the imagination. Hold on. I’m imagining what you look like in your superhero ensemble. Is that what you’re wearing under there?” He tipped his head sideways, assessing her.

“Seriously?” she said, although her stomach did a little flip at his open admiration. “Really though. I can tell when people are lying to me. It’s on me to figure out if it’s a big lie or a white lie and I’ve gotten pretty good at that, too. Most people lie at least a quarter of the time. My unscientific estimate.”

He didn’t laugh at her. What a relief.

“I am sensing there’s a ‘but.”

“Yes. Most people lie, and lie often, but,” she held his gaze, “ _ you  _ don’t lie.”

Under a crooked brow, those deep blue eyes of his softened — went glassy — and she felt the ache more acutely. “No. I don’t.”

Something like gratitude was in his sad smile. Why did it pain him to know she believed the best of him?

She heard footsteps approaching behind them. The possibility that she might have let slip an important lead in public and been overheard didn’t escape her. 

After the person had disappeared into an office, she continued. “I can’t ... say anything more. Not right now. Just this: no matter what anyone else around here is hiding, and against my better judgement, I am beginning to trust you, Killian Jones.”

He reached for her hand to shake, and stared right into her eyes. Took a few steadying breaths. She thumbed the back of his hand, feeling the need to comfort him in that small way. This man sat in the center of something potentially big, something  _ wrong _ , and he didn’t seem to know a thing about it. Most of his friends were either causing him harm or protecting him from harm; she wasn’t sure which. The heartbreak of it was that he clearly cared for each of these people in his life. She couldn’t stand imagining what it would do to him when this whole thing blew up. By her hands, no less. 

It was just too much emotion and too much guilt to process all at once. So she blinked away a tear, and shook her head. This was a mistake. Opening up to him was only going to wind up hurting both of them in the end. 

“I have to go. Don’t mention those things I asked you about to  _ anyone. _ ”

“Wait! Swan, I-”

She turned to look up at him with regret, as she scurried away down the stairs, “Bye, Mayor Jones.”

His response was lost to her as she disappeared from sight.

~~~~


	8. Chapter 8

Sitting at an old wooden table on mismatched chairs, the boys laid out their feast for the night. 

The younger one — clad in a pair of jeans and a too-large shirt — had snatched a wallet with enough quid to pay half the next month’s utilities and subsidize the bangers and mash, and he was feeling pretty smug about it. If only maths came as easy as pickpocketing, he thought, as he looked over at his school books on the couch. A fan oscillating near the cracked multi-pane windows fluttered the papers.

“I have something to say,” the older one said, running his hand through his sandy curls nervously.

Through a mouthful of food, the younger one responded, “Hmmm. What?”

“I’ve gone and gotten a real job.”

“Aye? Who’d want to hire a funny-looking bloke like you? You’re liable to scare off the customers.”

The older boy cuffed him on his head of shaggy dark hair.

“Oi!”

“Seriously though, brother. As much fun as we’ve had these last few years, this has to end. We’ve nearly been caught by the nickers twice this week.”

“Did you see the look on that one’s face when he realized I was but a lad of thirteen?”

“You’re twelve yet, Killian. And I’m eighteen this month. It’s my job to take care of you and I’ve been letting you down. I don’t want this for you anymore. For us. When our bleeding arsehole of a father went and died on us, I should have put an end to this legacy of his. But it’s been two years now and we’re still living on the wrong side of the law.”

“Don’t I get a say?”

“No. It’s done. There’s a ship down at the docks that was hiring laborers to paint and do up-keep. Some nobleman named Charles Wiltshire put out the advert. Money is good.”

“What am I going to do?”

“We can finally stay in one place, so you’ll get to stay in the same school long enough for it to count. Study hard. Use that mind of yours for more than planning our next break-in. Make something of yourself. You’ve always been too smart for your own good.”

He huffed. It wasn’t fair to just have this thrust on him without choice. Then again, it would be nice to get to play a bit of ball in the park. Just for fun. He looked longingly out the window at the kids playing right then — the ones in his class who always had better clothes and haircuts than he.

“Alright, Liam.”

“Good. You know what? Let me take you down there. This ship is really bloody amazing.” Liam put down his fork and crossed to the door, turning to look back at Killian, eyes bright and a spring in his step. 

Killian shoveled one more bite of food into his mouth, grabbed his jacket, and followed. 

Stepping out into the street, he had to put his hand to his eyes. The sun was so bright. Squinting, he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. As the light dimmed, he could see with absolute clarity what lay in the street before him. He didn’t want to get closer. He’d been here before. Killian turned back, tried to get back into the flat they had just left. 

“Liam, let’s go back inside,” he said, but it was too late.

Behind him there was no longer a door leading to the safety of their flat, but rather an ambulance, with EMTs putting away their kits, covered in blood and apologetic eyes. 

This time he would not walk there. He would stay put. He would not look. Killian’s hands started to shake as he tried to make it not real.  _ Close your eyes, wake up.  _

Opening his eyes, hoping it would be all gone, he was just  _ there.  _ He hadn’t walked there, he knew. But somehow, he couldn’t prevent himself from arriving at the precise spot he was desperate to avoid. The mangled wreckage of what had once been a beloved 65 Mustang GT, further demolished by the jaws of life. 

He tripped on something, looked down, and to his horror, saw the blanket covering the body. Killian fell to his knees. Wracking sobs rolled over him. Liam. Brother. 

“We’re sorry, Killian,” said a voice behind him. “We did everything we could.”

He wanted to see him, to hug him one last time, but he was afraid. This had all happened before. Fear overtook sorrow. Killian quickly looked left and right. Now there was only darkness and blurry figures moving around him, speaking incoherently. And the body.

Suddenly a hand was on his wrist. The blanket had fallen away from Liam, and Killian saw, in horror, he was alive again and covered in blood: “Brother! Brother! Help! Listen. I need to tell you. He’s done this to me. Don’t let him do this to y-”

Drenched in sweat and mid-scream, Killian bolted upright in the darkness. His eyes tracked around the room and landed on the alarm clock: 3:30 a.m. He was panting like he had run a race. It was one he’d run dozens of times before. Ever since that day in August. No amount of visits with Dr. Hopper had gotten him past this nightmare.

Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, still a bit wobbly, he headed for the bathroom. Under the warmth of the shower, all the clammy cold and nausea melted away, but nothing could get rid of the unease. A bit of decaf coffee was in order, so he shuffled down to the kitchen in his robe.

After he’d prepared and poured a cup, he carried it back up to bed and sat it on his side table. He flipped on the book light over his bed and reached for his favorite volume of Yeats. Tried to read. Sipped his coffee. 

Couldn’t get past the first line.

His mind kept straying to something Emma Swan had said, _What about you, Mr. Jones? Have any skeletons in your closet?_ If only she knew. She’d never be able to get past the fact that for nearly a decade of his life, he was a delinquent. A malfeasant. Common criminal. Had he met her back then, he’d have used his youthful charm and wiles, then stolen her money right out from under her. Or stolen from her parents. Or from anyone else she loved. He wouldn’t have given it a second thought. If she knew all of that, she’d never say she trusted him.

Gods be damned, he wanted her to trust him. After that moment they shared in town hall, it was all he could think about. It was the moment when the last pieces of his initial plan to get the truth from her — and preferably while she was naked and under him — had crumbled. By opening up to him about her gift, by letting him know she had faith in him, and by sealing it with a simple brush of her thumb against his hand, she had exposed some part of his soul he’d long since hidden. Hidden for ten years. Since Milah had abandoned him on the night he had brought her to Storybrooke to propose. The part that no amount of brief dalliances with beautiful women had ever filled. 

Killian scrubbed his hands over his face and took another sip of coffee. He flapped his book closed and put it down on the bed, leaning against the headboard. He had to get his mind on happier memories; to set his dreams right. The last thought he had before he fell asleep was of Liam, pride beaming as he showed Killian the Jolly Roger for the first time, their ticket out of a life of crime.

~~~~

“Nice place you’ve got here,” Emma said, taking in the bright and cheerful artwork on the walls and the assorted colorful antique chairs and tables that gave the whole place a whimsically homey look. She was at Ruby Lucas and Dorothy Gale’s apartment in downtown Storybrooke. Ruby, the effervescent Granny’s waitress, and granddaughter of the namesake, had asked Emma to come up and meet her wife Dorothy yesterday, because “I’ve already told you so much about her.” 

Dorothy worked at the local nursery, and was also - according to Ruby - an excellent baker. In fact, there was a pervasive smell of cookies in the apartment, Emma noted. Her stomach growled a bit in hopeful anticipation.  _ Please let that not be a candle,  _ she thought.

“Thanks,” Ruby said, flipping Dorothy’s hair as she moved past her to fix the tea. “It’s a team effort.”

Dorothy turned around from cleaning dishes at the sink, and looked meaningfully at Mary Margaret and Emma, rolled her eyes and half-grinned. Yeah, Emma had thought as much. Given the relatively demure plaid shirt and shorts she was wearing, relative to Ruby’s bright pink midriff top and short checked-black shorts, with matching pink lipstick, she would be surprised if any of the furnishings were Dorothy’s doing. 

Emma took the tea from her as she came over to join them. There  _ were  _ fresh sugar cookies. She took a couple. “How are you liking Storybrooke, Emma?” Ruby asked.

She looked at Mary Margaret and back to Ruby, trying to decide how intuitive these new acquaintances were, and what she should say. “The town is absolutely picture perfect. Mary Margaret is the best tour guide. I’m so glad I met her so early on.”

“It’s been a lot of fun, hasn’t it?” Mary Margaret said. “I’m so glad you came here.”

“Kind of off the beaten path. Hopefully your story will really shake off the dust here. My Granny’s diner could use the business,” Ruby said.

Emma’s stomach clenched with guilt.

Dorothy came around to sit on the arm of the couch near Ruby. “What’s your favorite place you’ve visited so far?” 

“I guess I’m kind of partial, because it’s my view every day, but the marina is so picturesque. The Jolly Roger just steals the show.”

“The Jolly Roger!” Ruby looked mischievously at Mary Margaret. “Mary Margaret likes that boat too.”

Clearly embarrassed, she said, “Ruby. Come on now.”

Dorothy looked utterly confused. “What is it?”

“Nothing!” Mary Margaret quickly responded, then softened her tone. “Nothing. I just like the boat. It’s pretty.”

Clearly not understanding the inside comment, but letting it lie, Dorothy shifted gears. “Have you met the mayor yet?”

It was Emma’s turn to be embarrassed. She felt the blood start to creep into her cheeks and started to panic a bit, because — what was wrong with her?! — “Yes. He seems competent.”

Ruby and Dorothy looked at each other and grinned. 

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard that as a first impression,” Ruby mused.

Emma knew precisely what she was implying. “Of course, yes. He’s very easy on the eyes too, but I’m here as a writer, so I’ve got different things on my mind.” 

Like looking into his past. Looking into his financials. Asking his associates for dirt about him. All the normal things.

“Speaking of Killian, we’re all going out to the Rabbit Hole this Saturday, if you guys want to join us?” Mary Margaret asked.

“Let me see,” Dorothy scrolled through the calendar on her phone. “Crap. We’ve got tickets to the late showing of Chicago down at the Playhouse. Sorry.”

Just then a small white dog ran in; he immediately started sniffing Emma’s ankles before tipping his little head up to lick her fingers. “Cute dog.”

“That’s Toto. He’s a bit nosy, but harmless.”

Emma chuckled. “Like Wizard of Oz. Love it.”

“When I saw him at the rescue, saw how much he looked like that dog, and I’m ... well ... Dorothy. It was meant to be.” She came over and scooped up the little dog. “He wants to play a bit, so I’m going to take him out and throw his favorite ball. Be back in a bit.”

“Sorry we can’t make it to the bar, ladies,” Ruby said. “I hope you have a blast though. Who’s going to be there?”

“Outside of Killian?” Mary Margaret said. “David. I’m not sure who else.”

Ruby asked, “David, huh? Whatcha wearing, Mary Margaret?”

“Ohhh, I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it much.” She glanced away; her tell, Emma thought, for when she wasn’t being honest. She continued, “I do have this white lace overlay dress. It’s really summery.”

“I know the one. He’ll love it,” Ruby said.

“Now don’t say that,” Mary Margaret said, a mild flush staining her cheeks. “He’s with someone else. I just like the dress.”

Emma knew that, although she was too good to admit it because of his girlfriend, Mary Margaret was at least subconsciously dressing for the gaze of David Nolan. The truth was, judging from what she saw in the brief interaction she witnessed,  _ everything  _ Mary Margaret wore would draw the attention of David Nolan. Particularly a lacy dress. Emma had a sudden pang, realizing that she hadn’t packed for a social outing and nothing she had with her would look quite right alongside her friend.

“You okay over there, Emma? Sorry about the inside joke. I’ll let Mary Margaret explain.”

“No, no. Don’t apologize. I get it. It’s not that. I don’t think I have anything nice enough to wear. Especially when I’m next to this lovely woman right here.” 

“I’m sure you’ll look fine,” Mary Margaret said.

“Hey! You can borrow something of mine,” Ruby exclaimed.

Emma looked at Ruby and her current ensemble. “Ohhhh. I don’t know.”

She chuckled, clearly reading exactly what Emma was thinking from her expression. “Don’t you worry. I’ve got a couple things that will be just perfect for you. Come with me.”

Looking at Mary Margaret for help, she found only an encouraging smile. “Trust her. She’ll find you something.”

So that’s how Emma found herself shoulder deep in a closet with all the colors of the rainbow represented. Ruby had pulled out a handful of dresses as options, ranging from flouncy blues, to black numbers with necklines down to the navel. But in the end it was the color that caught her eye. 

“The red one. Let me try that.”

“Yes!” Ruby clapped her hands. “I’ll be in the living room. Come show us when you have it on.”

She pulled the red dress up and went to look at herself in the mirror. It looked surprisingly good, even though she’d never have picked it for herself. Her bra straps kind of ruined the effect, so she unhooked it and tossed it aside, adjusting again. Looking back to her reflection, she tried to imagine how she’d present standing next to Mary Margaret. Was it too much? Not right? Her mind fed her the unbidden thought that she had been repressing: w _ hat would Killian think of it?  _ She had an all-too-vivid image of his hungry gaze — the way he’d looked at her in the library when she intentionally tried to throw him off his game. She’d only been wearing a basic tee and pants that day. If that turned him on, then this would have him- Her blood began to warm. Well, he would be way more than just jolted. Thinking about having the upper hand put her a little more at ease. She grinned.

Emma walked out into the living room and did a spin. “Well, what do you think?” 

A low whistling noise of approval came from the front doorway as Dorothy came back in, quickly echoed by the other women in the room. “I don’t know what we’re doing in here, but that dress looks like it was made for you, Emma.”

“Dorothy’s right,” Ruby said. “Definitely a good call on the red.”

Looking down at her bare feet, she asked, “I hate to push my luck but have you got any shoes that match?”

“What size are you?” Ruby asked.

“Eight.”

“I’m that size,” Dorothy said. “And I’ve got these red shoes that will look perfect with that. Just a touch of glam.”

Emma sighed, looking around the room. These women. She’d never quite met people like this anywhere. Not in any of her dozens of other assignments. 

How many times had she worked her way into getting the information she needed by not being entirely forthright? How many cover story lies had dripped off her tongue in the course of her career? And yet, doing it here, with these people, made her feel really shitty. 

“Really,” Mary Margaret said, misreading Emma’s expression. “I like this one.”

“Okay! The red dress it is. Thanks, ladies.” Emma looked at her watch. “I better hit the library. I still have a ton of work to do today.”

“Our pleasure,” Ruby and Dorothy said in unison and then looked at each other and giggled.

She hoped someday she found someone who was so in sync with her. “Let me go get this dress off and you can grab me the shoes.”

“Sure.”

When she was back in her street clothes of jeans, boots and a black tank, Ruby said, “You know, I’m happy to loan you anything you want, but this heat wave isn’t going anywhere. And I know your style might be a bit different than mine. You may want to go to Modern Fashions. I was just in there yesterday, and they’ve got a fair bit of summer stuff still in stock.”

“I saw that place. Across from Granny’s?”

“Yeah. Tell them Ruby sent you.” She flashed that show-stopping grin.

She nodded. “Thanks again for everything,” she said, and walked out of the door smiling as well, thinking of how different it was in this town where a stranger could become a friend in the matter of hours.

When all of this was over, she hoped they would still feel the same way about her as they did now.

~~~~


	9. Chapter 9

Killian swirled the amber liquid in his glass and tried to focus on the conversation. Something about new equipment for the cruiser, or maybe it was baseball? Point of fact, he wasn’t actually sure what Dave was prattling on about. It wasn’t his friend’s fault. His mind was adrift. He’d like to have blamed the rum, but he had barely touched it.

The door of the Rabbit Hole opened and he glanced up to find her framed in the glow of the remaining sunset — the cause of his disquiet. She was facing away from him, whispering something to her companion, but the long spill of soft blonde curls could only belong to one woman. He vaguely registered the flattering white lace dress on Miss Blanchard beside her, before taking in the revelation that was Emma Swan.

He wished he had the courage to glance away nonchalantly — to retain some modicum of his typical ease around women — but with her in that form-fitting cherry-red dress and high heels, it was a lost cause. The fact that she had run away from him at their last parting didn’t help matters. He lifted his nearly-full tumbler of rum to his lips and downed it in one gulp.

Despite the cool interior of the bar, Killian was feeling rather warm. It wasn’t the rum. He undid another button on his shirt, which did absolutely nothing to help the situation. It did, however, seem to draw Emma’s attention. With satisfaction he watched as her eyes flickered to his chest and then up to his face, before refocusing on her friend.

Mary Margaret smiled widely in his direction and waved to the man at his left. He watched as she put her hand to Emma’s back and they approached the bar.

“ _ Damn, _ ” a voice at his side muttered.

“What was that, Dave?”

“Emma brought Mary Margaret. Does my hair look okay?”

What did he care?!? For fuck’s sake. He had his own issues. Namely, the blonde rapidly approaching him.  _ Come to mention it _ ... He ran his hand through his own hair, hoping to put it to rights.

“David.” Mary Margaret sat on a stool next to him.

“Mary Margaret. You look nice.”

“Thanks.” She leaned back. “Killian. Hi. You know-”

“Aye.”

“Emma! Glad you could make it,” David said.

“Oh! Thanks for the invite,” Emma said, looking around. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Everyone el- What?” Killian was cut off by a sharp jab to the side from David.  _ What the buggering hell? _

“Yes! Well, not everyone could make it,” David said, as Killian rubbed his bruised ribs.

He had no idea what Nolan was playing at. It was only ever the two of them and sometimes Smee. He side-eyed his friend, thinking that he would have to talk to him later.

“That’s a shame,” Mary Margaret said. “Who was coming?”

Emma caught Killian’s eye and he knew very well that she wasn’t buying this story. Not with her superpower. He felt a triumphant thrill knowing she had let him in on something about herself she probably rarely told anyone.

“So Killian,” she interjected, in what he could only guess was a play to save Dave from his falsehood. “Have you been here long?”

“No. In fact, we just arrived a few minutes ago. It’s lovely to see you.”

“You as well.” She held his gaze for a moment, in what looked like apology — for their last meeting or for simply being there? — before she turned on a bright smile and said, “Both of you.”

“Well, I hope you enjoy our must-see, local hot spot,” David said, grinning. “It’s definitely an experience.”

Emma took a long look around the less-than-impressive bar. Killian imagined she was thinking the same thing he was; he doubted anyone would categorize this place as a “must-see.” However, if she felt that way, she kept it to herself. Instead, she spent a few minutes talking about all the other memorable things she had seen.

When David queried the ladies about their hike through the town forest, it quickly turned into a deep discussion about migration patterns of local songbirds. Which Killian had absolutely no interest in. Neither, apparently, did Emma. She shifted from foot to foot, looking past him, ostensibly to check out the liquor collection.

“Killian?” His heart skipped a beat. She used his given name without prompt.

“What’s that?”

She looked around. “Where’s Kathryn?”

“Who? Oh! Sorry! David’s ... uh ... ” He wasn’t sure what their status was at the moment. Not good; he knew that much. “Why do you ask?”

“I haven’t met her, is all.”

“She doesn’t really come here,” Killian said, wondering what her angle was. “I haven’t seen much of her lately, to be honest.”

“Oh.” He watched the trace of a smile cross her lips as she looked over at Mary Margaret. Then she nudged his empty glass. “What were you drinking?”

“Rum.”

“Sounds good. I think I’ll have the same.”

She flagged down the bartender, who stopped dead in his tracks and practically skidded over to meet Emma at the counter, smiling broadly and laying on the charm. Killian wasn’t sure  _ that _ level of enthusiasm was altogether necessary in the transacting of an alcoholic beverage. He worked his jaw and narrowed his eyes at the youth. And he  _ was  _ young. Shouldn’t a fellow be at least old enough to legally partake of the beverages he sells?! He needed to take a closer look at the bylaws. If there wasn’t one, he had a mind to address that at the next council meeting. The bartender caught his scowl and slinked off to pour the drink.

“You look utterly captivating this evening, Miss Swan,” he said. It was true. He couldn’t bring himself to look away from her.

Emma glanced down at her dress, thumbing the hem. “I didn’t bring anything bar-appropriate with me and Mary Margaret has this friend Ruby who wears the same size as me. Well, I’m not actually sure  _ she’s  _ wearing the right size, to be honest, because ... this is a bit tight. But thanks.”

He made a mental note to give Ruby a hefty tip next time he was in Granny’s.

She reached over and tugged on his shirt collar, and his heart thudded in his chest at the contact. “No tie.”

“Aye. Well, had I known you would be present this evening, I would have made the effort. I know how you feel about them.”

A smile broke across her face that reached all the way to her eyes. For the first time he thought there was a chance he was wrong with his going theory regarding Miss Swan: that she had come to Storybrooke to ruin his life.

The bartender returned and handed a drink to Emma across the bar, glaring at Killian before briskly walking away without a backward glance.  _ It was going to be that way, was it? _ He didn’t want another drink anyway. If he was going to spend a night in the presence of this woman, he would need to have his good senses about him.

“Why don’t you take a seat, love?” he asked. Her heels — although sexy beyond words — had to be painful.

Emma said abruptly, “I’d rather not.”

“I’m sorry, did I say something to offend?”

She leaned closer to speak into his ear. Wisps of her hair brushed against his face and he caught the scent of vanilla —  _ she smelled like a fucking cake _ — which did nothing to diminish the desire coursing through his veins. Every drop of blood rushed directly from his head to his lower extremity. “Here’s the deal — it is not physically possible for me to sit on  _ that _ stool in  _ this _ dress.”

“Ahhh.” He prodded the man next to him. “Nolan. We’re taking that booth over there.”

“Sounds great.”

They crossed the bar and sat down at the only booth available. It was littered with the previous occupants’ filth, which Killian quickly disposed of and returned to find that David had placed himself next to Mary Margaret on one side. He graciously gave Emma the end of the booth, as he knew she’d appreciate the space to stretch those incredible legs of hers. As she slid in next to him, he fervently hoped his thoughts, which were currently vacillating between the virtues of vanilla frosting and whether she would taste as good as she smelled — didn’t show on his face.

“So, Emma,” David said. “Where are you from?”

“Me?” She paused, looking away from David. “Oh, you know, all over.”

There was a flurry of recognition in Killian that he couldn’t believe he hadn’t picked up on before. He had been too consumed with trying to find his footing that he had missed the cues. These were words he himself had uttered many times in the past.  _ Was she an orphan like he? _

“What do your parents do?” David asked, and the flicker of discomfort in Emma’s eyes confirmed Killian’s suspicion. 

“I was just wondering — where’s Kathryn, Dave?” Killian queried, happy to see Emma’s shoulders relax at his redirect of the conversation.

David was quick to pick up on the change of course. He deflected Killian’s specific question, instead wading into the topic of his family and the loss of his dad. Mary Margaret seemed uncomfortable at any mention of that man’s name, but she hid it behind a guarded smile. Killian supposed that was because the Nolans were never big on the Blanchards. And vice-versa. Long-running animosity. 

At least there was one upside to being an orphaned foreigner with no family connections — no one to get in the way of his love interests. The very few  _ real _ love interests there had ever been anyway. His mind strayed to Milah for a few moments, pain pricking his heart, then he put the memory away.

A shadow fell over the table and everyone looked up to find a meticulously attractive brunette in a stylish purple dress. Regina Mills, here to ruin the evening.

Her plastered-on smile hardened into a thin line as she looked between Emma and him. A lesser woman would have shrunk under that sort of gaze, but not Emma. She just stared right back at Regina, unflinching.

Killian looked from Regina to Emma, trying to make sense of the fraught interaction. “Regina, have you met Emma Swan? A reporter with the Globe,” Killian said.

“I don’t believe we’ve formally met.” She held out her hand to Emma.

Rather than take her hand, Emma smiled and raised her glass. “Ms. Mills.”

Killian’s first thought was,  _ Odd, they seem to know each other.  _ His second was that Emma was clearly not a fan of his predecessor. That made him smile.

Ever the politician, Regina greeted everyone, making small talk before excusing herself “to join a friend.” When Killian followed her path to a table off to one side of the room, his eyes met those of Sidney Glass for a brief moment, before the man looked away and stood up to embrace Regina.

“You-” she paused searching his eyes, “You’re friends with Sidney, aren’t you?”

“Aye. In a manner of speaking.”

“Oh.” She swallowed the last of her rum. “Looked like something was up with you two.”

“Our interests have diverged, but there is no animosity.”  _ That I know of _ , he thought to himself.

“Are they together?”

Killian turned to look at her, eyebrow lifted. She was fishing for a story, he was well aware, but couldn’t find the harm in being honest. “I don’t believe so, no. Just great friends, I think. I must confess, however; I don’t spend a lot of time conjecturing about the love life of a woman who spent the better part of a year spreading lies about me.”

“Yeah. I suppose not.”

Again, she didn’t prod, so he had to assume that she had already read about Regina’s attempts to soil his reputation in the archives she had been poring over. He wondered for the thousandth time what the devil she was really investigating.

She looked down at her drink, and then up at Mary Margaret and David. They were still heavy into talk of nature or the great outdoors.

“Just going to get another drink,” she announced to the table before standing. “And maybe some fries.” The sheriff and schoolteacher barely noticed her leaving. Of course, Killian couldn’t help but look.

He noted he wasn’t alone. The eyes of a dozen men and women followed her as she slid through the crowd towards the bar. But Killian was only concerned with one pair. Those of a man sitting at a table alone, in a far corner of the room, hidden in the shadows in his black suit and shoes, cane resting on the wall.

~~~~~

“So there’s Killian, in pajamas, with a pair of handcuffs on his wrist — the other cuff locked around a broken headboard spindle — standing outside of my apartment building in the snow, begging me to release him and drive him home.” David was three pints in and laughing heartily as he spoke. Mary Margaret had her head back, tears running down her face in mirth.

“Let me tell the story, mate. I won’t have you spreading spurious facts about me to a newspaper reporter. The goodly sheriff is sorely mistaken. I never  _ ever ...  _ ” he paused for effect, “wear pajamas.” He winked at Emma, and the table erupted in laughter.

She took his flirtation in stride, winking right back and laughing. The unexpectedly effortless humor that was beneath her controlled exterior gave him a small jolt of pleasure. He took it as a small triumph to see her with her guard down, if only for a moment. 

“No pajamas, huh?” Emma asked with a half grin.

“Do you need supporting evidence? A first-hand account could be arranged, love.” He leaned back in the booth, running his tongue along his lower lip and raising his brow.

“So sure of yourself, Mr. Mayor. Did you ever think that maybe you couldn’t handle a night with me?” she goaded.

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.” He touched his tongue to his teeth.

Emma’s eyes narrowed and then she smirked. She moved closer to him, crossing her legs so that the pointed tip of her shoe brushed his ankle and the fabric of her dress crept up as high as possible without exposing herself. She ran her hand up her thigh, then farther up her body — skimming the outer edge of her breast — and into her hair, stretching suggestively, in a move he knew was meant to rattle him. 

Every synapse in his body screamed to attention, but he’d never let her know. He was a rock. Immovable. He would be damned if she would get the satisfaction of him ogling the long line of cream-colored skin leading up to her- No. A rock.

He reached out to snatch her last French fry. “That’s what you get for trying to tempt me, Swan.”

She looked genuinely irritated.

“What? You want this?” He smirked and laughed mockingly as he wagged it at her in the air.

“Yes,” she said, wearing an impish grin. “And you’re going to give it to me.”

A throat cleared across the table and Killian realized that their coquetry had been noticed by their very well-meaning, but meddling friends. Mary Margaret and David both had mischievous grins and he knew precisely what they were thinking. He was buggered if he cared what they thought, though. After all, they’d seen him with women before.

“Can’t be tempted, he says,” Emma said to David, clearly lacking any inhibition where their public display of flirtation was concerned.  _ How much had she had to drink? _

She leaned close to him, lightly dragging her nails down his arm. His ability to produce a witty comeback was lost in the wake of her touch. He shifted his back muscles trying to keep composure. But now her fingers were around his left hand, thumb stroking the sensitive skin of his outer wrist. He opened his mouth to talk, but nothing came out. Her face was moving towards his. Was she going to kiss him? Right here at the table? In front of everyone?

At the last moment, she angled her chin to speak into his ear, her breath on his earlobe shorting out his brain. “Sucker,” she said, and then she twisted his hand over to retrieve the fry and leaned back in her seat, popping it into her mouth. “Thanks.”

He blinked dumbly, mouth open, forgetting the present company for just a moment. When he looked up, Mary Margaret and David were sniggering, each casting a meaningful look at him. 

“Anyone want another drink?” Emma asked, still chuckling at him.

“We’re all set,” Mary Margaret said, pointing at their nearly full glasses.

Killian had stopped drinking long ago. He glanced at the three empty tumblers in front of Emma’s seat. He wondered how she was still so steady on those shoes, as she left the table for the bar again.

As soon as Emma was out of sight, he turned his attentions back to his other companions, who were probably a bit cozier than was appropriate, at least for Dave.

“Are you going to Kathryn’s tonight?” Killian asked, hoping to nip any half-drunken ideas that they had in the bud. If he were to leave with Mary Margaret tonight, it may as well be in the papers tomorrow.

“No. No, I’m not. We’re actually ... not together anymore,” he said.

“Sorry, mate. I didn’t know.”

“Me neither,” Mary Margaret said in surprise, hiding the shadow of a smile.

David looked at her for a moment, n with naked heat in his expression, “Yeah. It’s been a long time coming, actually.”

Mary Margaret squeezed his hand, and Killian thought,  _ Finally. _

Killian was rapidly starting to feel like a third wheel. He stood up quickly, “You know, I think Emma needs me. I’ll be right back.”

As he made his way across the room, he found Emma coming straight at him, with a drink in hand.

“Sorry, I don’t know what came over me before,” she said.

“It’s all in good fun, lass. Don’t worry yourself over it.” He leaned against the wall to his right.

“It’s just that I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea. I’ve been thinking about this. A lot. You and I — we — shouldn’t ... ”

He stepped towards her, leading with a sway of his hip, and bringing them to within a foot of each other. There was something else in her eyes, something like uncertainty etched in her brow. She may have been the one to detect lies but he wasn’t a bad hand himself. When she didn’t back away — just met his gaze, barely breathing and lips parted (Gods how he wanted to feel them on him) — he knew.

“‘Shouldn’t?’ And why is that ... Emma Swan?” Her name rolled across his lips as though it were a treat he wanted to savor. Which was precisely how he felt.

Her eyelids fluttered. “Well, I’m not going to be in town for long. It wouldn’t be right, would it?”

“A prevarication if I’ve ever heard one. I’ve no qualms about exploring whatever  _ this  _ is in the time we have. Should you desire to become better acquainted, my schedule is wide open.”

Killian reached out for her hair, and took a lock in his hand, rubbing the silky length between his thumb and forefinger. He’d been wanting to do that since the day he first saw her. Desire equal to his was reflected in her expression.

She shook her head lightly, as if she could shake away her thoughts with the motion. “Stop that,” she said softly.

“Stop what?”

“What you’re doing with my hair.”

He let it fall from his hand and he grinned at her. “Why? Are you afraid you might give into your baser urges and kiss me?”

She took a step away from him and spoke, with a bit more cheek, “That’s quite the assumption, mayor.”

“So you’re saying I’m wrong? You don’t want to?”

“No. I mean. Yes. I-.” She took a long pull from her tumbler and attempted — in vain — to express her feelings on the matter. But she couldn’t find the words. Her body tilted towards him as though he were a planet whose gravity was drawing her nearer.

Not for the first time that evening, an invisible vice tightened around his chest. He wanted her so badly it stole his breath away. But, despite their obvious magnetism and his show of bravado, she was right. They  _ shouldn’t  _ kiss. Snogging a near-stranger in the middle of a bar would be insanity. He was the mayor. There was propriety involved. And in all honesty, he wasn’t going to take advantage of a woman who was clearly intoxicated.

Further solidifying his resolve, he watched as she swayed on the spot.

“Easy there.” He took her elbow in his hand. “Perhaps you’ve had enough for one evening.” He took her glass and sat it on the wall.

“Are you trying to insinuate that I’m drunk?”

“I believe I’m saying it outright, Swan.”

“Nonsense. I have a very high tol-. Tolerance.” The difficulty with that last word gave her pause. “Okay, okay. You might be right. I’m probably done.”

“I would be happy to give you a lift back to your inn.”

“What time is it?”

“Just past ten-thirty.”

She considered him and breathed out heavily. Deciding.

After a couple minutes of contemplation, she spoke. “Okay. Sure. Let me say goodbye.” She glanced over at the table, cocking her head to the side at the sight of Mary Margaret and David, eyes locked, heavy in conversation. “Wow.”

“David says he and Kathryn are through,” Killian explained.

“Fancy that,” she said through a smirk. “Let’s just go. I’ll text her in the car.”

“Good idea,” he said. “I’m ready when you are.”

She muttered something under her breath that he was sure included the word “screwed” and a curse word or two, but he wasn’t sure. Whatever it was, he wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment.  _ They were both fucking screwed. _

“After you, milady.”

They passed the empty corner where Gold had been earlier before exiting into the humid evening air.

~~~~

_ Stepping out of a shiny black Audi sedan, Emma Swan squinted into the light of the single street lamp in front of the seaside inn. _

_ “Thanks for the ride,” she mouthed to the man behind the closed window. _

_ She couldn’t actually see his face, but she was grateful he had stayed in the car. Truth be known, if he were to step out right now, her resolve to keep her hands off him would be shot to hell. It struck her that perhaps Hell was exactly where he came from. She was certain there were no angels that looked the way he looked tonight: tousled brown hair, stubble, tight black jeans, and dark grey button-down shirt with the collar open more than was decent. It wasn’t just the clothes. The body beneath seemed as though it had been built to inspire sin. And he knew it. The way he carried himself — as though he was always two seconds away from luring you into a dark corner, trapping you against the wall, and having his way with you — he was no less than the devil incarnate. _

_ A cool breeze blew up from the water, breaking her thoughts and making her stand up straighter. She took a deep breath and lifted her hair off her damp neck. What she needed right now was to escape the oppressive heat.  _ Escape him,  _ a small voice whispered. Since the breeze was coming off the water, she thought, in her half-sober logic, that it might be a good idea to head down to the marina, maybe dangle her feet from the docks. _

_ The swish of the window on the car behind her and the air conditioning spilling out over her feet had her cursing. She turned to face the open window, tugging the back of her tight red dress down as she bent down to speak.  _ Act casual, Swan.  _ “I’m fine, now, Mr. Mayor. You’ve done the chivalrous thing and delivered me to my hotel. You can go now.” _

_ He started to say something, but she stood up and began to walk away, bypassing the path to her building and heading towards the water. _

_ ~~~~ _


	10. Chapter 10

_ Behind her, tires slowly crunched on the gravel, and then came to a stop. The headlights blinked out. A car door opened and shut.  _ Shit. _ There were shoes pounding the pavement at a quick clip and then silence. When she turned around, she found him staring at her with a look of concern knitting his brows. He ran his hand through his hair and exhaled, and she tried to ignore how damn sexy he looked when he was worried. _

_ “The inn was that way, Swan. So unless you have taken up residence in someone’s houseboat, you’re walking in the wrong direction.” _

_ “Where I walk is none of your concern.” _

_ “I beg to differ. The water down there is at least twenty feet deep. The last thing I need to wake up to on Sunday is a lawsuit because a bloody tourist decided to take a drunken stroll off the end of my docks.” _

_ “I’m not drunk. Just a little buzzed.” _

_ “Nearly four tumblers of rum in an hour or two, lass? If you aren’t drunk, I’d be heartily impressed.” _

_ “Well, prepare to be impressed.” She pivoted on her heel and began to stride away, but damn it if she didn’t pick that moment to trip on some rope and nearly fall to the ground, grabbing the bumper of a parked car on the way down. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” _

_ “Whoa. Here, let me help you.” He reached out to help her stand again, but rather than putting her on solid footing, his firm grip around her waist made her feel even more unsteady. _

_ It wasn’t the liquor. This man had the uncanny ability of being able to set her off balance. Ever since the moment she first laid eyes on him. _

“It’s okay. I don’t need your help anymore.” She tried to sound like she meant it, even though his hands had felt so good on her body. That thought set her to walking again. Quickly. Towards the docks. Away from him. And his hands.

“I hear you saying you don’t need help, Emma, but-” he said, as she felt herself slip on some pebbles, “Bloody fucking hell! -you certainly do.”

Killian needed to lighten up a bit. Maybe if she put his mind at ease a little, he’d calm down. Stepping onto a dock, she bent over to take off the high heels ... and lost her balance again in the process. She put her hand down on the wooden decking to keep from tipping over. 

He gasped, half-reaching for her, his voice an octave higher than usual, “Stars above! My heart can’t take this.”

She stood up, shoes in hand, and waggled them at him. “Scary shoes are off. Better?”

“Great. But standing still would make me even happier. Better yet, what say you turn around and chart a course in the direction of that delightful inn you’re staying at?”

The Jolly Roger stood a few yards away from her, softly bumping against the moorings. Every morning she looked out her window, awestruck by this ship’s beauty. Every day she made a point of ending her run in front of these docks, just to be near to it. So many times she had wanted to just walk out there, climb the stairs and ask for a tour. She looked around. Besides Killian, nobody was out here. And he was captain of the boat. Surely that gave her implicit permission to board. She was going to get a closer look. If he felt the need to follow her, then so be it.

“Wait. Where are you going now?”

“Getting a better look at this ship.”

“Out the dock. Up the stairs. Above water. Glorious. The brilliant ideas keep on coming, Swan. Hold on, will you?” He skirted the wooden steps quickly, and came up behind her, resting his hand on the small of her back as she ascended.

“Do you know who owns this boat?” he asked lightly, helping her over the side.

“No, but it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“She’s quite the ship. Did you know I take tourist and school groups out on her? My brother was the-”

“Captain. Mary Margaret told me. I am so sorry, Killian.”

“As am I.” He joined her at the railing, staring off. She heard him take a deep breath and exhale slowly. “You would have liked him. He was a good man.”

“I bet he would have been proud of you.”

A flash of something between pain and gratitude passed across Killian’s face and he grew silent. Emma was familiar with that sort of silence. She’d leave him to his thoughts for a bit.

Leaning back against the portside railing, she looked across the deck of the Jolly Roger. The soft lights of the town cast a pale glow on the wood and the riggings and Emma was awestruck as she took in the magnificence of it all. It even smelled great, she thought, as she caught a whiff of the canvas and the scent of some kind of polish. She couldn’t remember ever being on a boat quite like this. Of course, that never stopped her from dreaming about it. Dreams were, after all, all that she had to keep her company for much of her childhood. Other little girls probably dreamt about a prince coming to take them away on a white horse. Not Emma. She dreamt about sailing off alone — leaving all of her problems behind.

Her gaze fell on Killian. He was staring out over the harbor, a soft expression on his face, perhaps lost in his memories. She hoped his were happier than hers. She hadn’t seen him look so contemplative before. Seeing another side of him made him even more attractive if it was possible.

_ Perhaps she could amend her dreams. The open sea was probably very lonely, after all. _

Damn. That was an inconvenient thought. Emma quickly scanned the docks. She was entirely alone ... with a man she was starting to fall for. There was nothing to be done about it. The tug in her gut was beyond her control. There were so many reasons she should probably not be there at that moment. But a question nudged at her from somewhere in the back of her mind:  _ why not _ ?

She felt a brush against her wrist. Killian was holding out his hand to her, his eyebrow raised. She took it, letting him lead her to a bench in the center of the boat. He sat a little farther down. Wind rolled across the deck and they both closed their eyes for a moment, drinking in the cooler air.

Emma put her palms down beside her hips and turned to look at Killian. With his sleeves rolled up, his hair all mussed, and the glint of the moonlight in his mischievous eyes, he seemed a lot less mayoral ... a whole lot more scoundrel.

“Emma?”

“Hmm?”

“What are you doing in Storybrooke, really?”

She blinked. That was unexpected. “It’s best I don’t answer that just yet.”

“Like you, I’m very perceptive. You’re clearly in turmoil about your work and I want to help you. I know this is one of your investigative pieces. Not about travel. You can tell me.”

“The most I can say is that it’s something that came to me through a friend.” Shit.  _ That’s _ one of the reasons she shouldn’t be alone with Killian: her not-quite-ex-boyfriend.

“And have you found the scoop you were looking for?”

Emma paused, considering her words. She wanted so badly to be honest with Killian. He had never lied to her. “What I came looking for initially? Thankfully, no.” 

No. She was nearly certain that her story was no longer about mayoral corruption.

The satisfied look he gave in response made her wonder if he had a window into her thoughts. He continued, “But you’ve found something else?”

“ _ That  _ I am still figuring out.” There were so many things she was trying to figure out: who held the key to the real story; if her trust in the mayor was misplaced; or why he made her insides twist every time she got near him. Ugh. She was in trouble.

He didn’t push her any further. Just let that topic get carried away with the breeze.

After a few minutes, he said softly, “So you’re fond of sailing?”

“I always wanted to be. Never really got a chance.”

“You don’t say? Well, perhaps an opportunity will present itself. I may be able to pull some strings and book you a seat on the next voyage.”

“Smee already offered.”

“That scalawag.”

She laughed. “You friendly with the owner?”

“We’re real close. How are you feeling, Emma?”

“Still a little hazy, I guess.”

He stood up and started to walk towards the hatch for the galley, turning to look back. “I think a little hydration is in order. Would you like some water?”

“Where do you propose we get it?”

“I’ll be right back.”

“I think that’s called breaking and entering, Mr. Mayor. How very miscreant of you.”

Killian poked his head back out. “A regular rapscallion, I am,” he said, and winked at her, before disappearing.

She laughed and then fell silent. It was quiet, save for the lapping of waves against the hull.

A few minutes later he emerged holding a couple of bottles in his hands. Emma stood up to take one from him, cracked it open and took a swig.

“Thank you.”

He shrugged one shoulder, “’Tis nothing. In truth, as the captain of this fine vessel I have free rein of her holds.”

Instead of sitting back down, he went to open up some built-in storage. As he sauntered away, she took a moment to appreciate how he looked from behind. Even in the shadows, it was still fun to watch. He pulled out a couple folded grey blankets.

“Follow me,” he said nodding his head.

She obliged, following him up to what she knew to be called the quarterdeck. He flicked them open and spread them out, one over another on the wooden planks close to the center. Then he made a courtly bow and gestured with his right hand to the blankets. She couldn’t help but grin. 

“Thank you.” She walked across the deck and took a seat, stretching her legs. There was enough space for Killian to join her, but her mind was locked in a particularly serious battle over whether or not he should. Neal was still out there somewhere. It frustrated her so much that by not letting her break up with him, he had locked her into a situation where she couldn’t find happiness elsewhere.

Deciding that sitting together crossed no line she knew of, she nodded to her side, beckoning Killian.

“Oh no, I’m quite fine here, love.”

Emma reclined back onto her elbows, and patted the empty space, “There’s plenty of room for two, though.”

Killian examined her face before sitting down next to her and leaning back. His presence at her side had an immediate effect. Certain parts of her body were starting to make plans she hadn’t fully agreed to yet.

She crossed her legs.

It was a crystal-clear night. The moon was only a pale slash and there were more stars above than she was accustomed to seeing in the city. She was certain the sky was larger in Maine.

Despite the beauty above, her thoughts kept returning to the man breathing deeply beside her. She felt Killian shift, his voice was closer at hand, “Quite a sight, isn’t it?”

“It is. I was trying to remember my constellations, but I can only think of the Big Dipper.”

“Over there. And that right there is Mars.”

“Where?”

Emma felt a shift beside her, and ever so gently Killian took her hand in his. Not since the first time a boy had held her hand had this sort of chaste act felt so monumental. She twined her fingers in his. Killian looked down and smiled, before he lifted their joined arms towards the part of the sky where he wanted her to look. His hair tickled against her as they leaned together to follow the long, bare line of her arm to the stars, and she shivered.

“Are you cold, love?”

Definitely not cold. “No.”

Killian’s voice came out a bit jagged when he spoke next, “That area there — to the right of the moon — the brightest point of light is Mars. Do you see?”

“I do. Wow. It’s all so magnificent. I was just thinking about the enormity of the sky up here in Maine.”

“You should see it from the open sea, Emma. Starlight and planets filling the sky above and reflected in the oceans below. It’s magical.”

“I bet.”

“It’s also how sailors of old found their way home.” 

_ Home _ , she thought.  _ Is that where the stars are leading me? _ She turned to him. The awestruck way he looked at her made her think that it was possible he was thinking the same thing. Which scared the hell out of her. She needed to change the subject.

“Except during storms, I guess. I bet that’s kind of scary in a ship like this.”

“We manage to keep her afloat in foul weather. Of course, we no longer chart by the stars. Though I’ve been known to do so once or twice. I’m quite the captain, you see.” He cut a glance at her. “But, you’re not wrong. There are very real dangers.” He whispered close to her ear, “Pirates.”

“My colleague did a piece on modern-era piracy last year. Is that a real thing that you have to worry about?”

“It’s not something that occupies my thoughts, no. Ships communicate with each other, so when there are sightings, everyone knows, and we chart a new course. It’s not foolproof. Sometimes you’re the unlucky devil who encounters them before anyone else. That’s why we’ve got top-of-the-line navigation and communications technology,” he nodded down the stairs, “ _ and _ a minor arsenal down there under lock and key.”

“I hadn’t thought of that before.”

“Believe me, I don’t want to have to use the weapons. But we are so often entrusted with the lives of tourists. That’s why I’ve made sure the whole crew is highly skilled in their use. It’s just the reality of captaining a vessel like this. Should it come to it, I would be ready. If there’s one thing you should know about me: I am a survivor. However, we haven’t had any run-ins, as yet.” He knocked the deck beneath his feet for good measure.

“All risks aside, I think I’d love to spend time out there. The freedom. The sky. The sea. From this ship’s bow it must be breathtaking.”

“It is. But for all that, it’s still not as breathtaking as you, Swan.” The sincerity in his words made her heart skip a beat. What could she possibly say to that? She squeezed his hand.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”  _ Really? _

“I know.”

For the first time, she had no retort. The truth was, despite all his posturing, here he was looking after her as though she was precious cargo he couldn’t let out of his sight until he was sure she was delivered safely home. Egomaniacal assholes — whose company she had endured more than once — did not offer the same courtesies. He was clearly not an egomaniacal asshole.

She looked around again. “So much to have to manage. The ship, the town, a social life. How do you find the time?”

“You’ll find I have a lot of stamina.”

She joked, “Why did I come up here with you again?”

He reached out and tucked a hair behind her ear. “Because I’m charming?”

“No. You’re not charming. David maybe. You’re-” she picked around for a word.

“What am I, Swan?” he said, all levity gone from his voice and replaced with something more ... 

“Dangerous.”

“Do you think? You know that’s possibly the first time anyone’s called me that in a long while.” He ran his knuckles across his jaw. “Is that a good thing?”

She searched his eyes. Was it a good thing that being near him made her want to forget propriety where both her professional life and Neal were concerned? Or that his gaze on her mouth made her want to want to break a few of the deadly sins? Or that hearing her name in his voice gave her a thrill every time? Or that sitting right there next to him and not touching him was an almost unbearable torture? Perhaps being good wasn’t what she wanted. But she didn’t tell him that. Just smiled and hummed low in her throat. 

“That good, then?” His expression grew more intent. “How are you feeling now?”

“Sober. If that’s what you mean. Thanks for the water.”

“It was my pleasure, love.”

“And thanks for tonight. I really enjoyed myself.”

He rolled to his side and rested on an elbow. “The night’s not over yet.”

Emma turned to look at him, and found a brow lifted over darkened eyes, his mouth curved into a half-cocked grin. It was a look that promised something more than a few drinks and a conversation.

She smiled in return, her lungs catching, “You don’t have to take care of me anymore. I’m going to be fine.”

“I know.” He leaned down, speaking in low tones, his breath tickling across her cheek. “You made it abundantly clear at the library that you can  _ take care _ of yourself. That’s not something a man readily forgets.”

“You know what I mean.” She knocked his foot with hers.

“Aye. And I’m all for, ah, self-reliance, but tell me — when was the last time you let  _ someone else _ give you the release you so plainly need?”

“You hardly know me. I have had plenty of sex.”

“You’re a beautiful woman. I would be surprised if you hadn’t. However, anyone who’s really looking can see how tightly wound you are. My guess? You haven’t been well and truly sated in a very long time. One evening with me could change all that.”

She could sense the shift in banter, and knew that they had hit that unspoken point where she was going to have to make a choice.

Either she could steer the conversation away from this territory and walk away, with the knowledge that she had done the unemotional, logical thing and waited to tell Neal it was over (which at this rate would be back in Boston, in over a week’s time.) Or, she could carry this discussion to its natural end, do whatever came next, and risk hurting Neal. If she walked away, the regret of never exploring what it was that made her feel so drawn to Killian would haunt her. If she stayed, she could free herself of the nearly suffocating need she felt for this man, and know what it was to be touched by him. If she stayed, maybe she would not feel so all alone — at least for one night. 

She was done with logic. Tonight her heart would have the say.

“That’s quite a big game you talk, Mr. Mayor.” She leaned up on her elbow and looked at him with open desire, her freshly-made decision giving her courage to speak the next words. “I would like to know if your actions live up to your words.”

“You would, would you?” He laughed, then he froze. Brows furrowed, he really looked at her. Assessing. All flirtation gone, he repeated, as though momentarily stunned. “You would?”

She nodded slowly.

“Then the offer stands, Swan,” he said, regaining his footing. The lilt of his native tongue accentuated the licentious nature of his proposal. “Just say the word and I’ll give you an orgasm so mind-blowing that from now on, when you touch yourself in the solitude of your room, all you will be able to think of is what I did to you right here on this ship.”

Emma’s breath caught in her throat. She was really doing this. Then her stomach dropped.  _ Shit. _ “Killian, I don’t have protection with me.”

“I always come prepared. Although, we won’t need any tonight. I’m not proposing intercourse.”

“Oh.” Shit. He means ... “Ohhh.”

“I’m not here to pressure you. But I would very much like to show you how exactly-”

Emma grabbed his collar, bringing his mouth to hers. He made a small noise of surprise but recovered admirably, slipping his arms around her as he returned the kiss with gusto. Whether it was the tension of the last couple weeks or the novelty of a new man, she didn’t know, but this she felt all the way down to her toes. 

“That was ... ” he said on an exhale, crinkling his eyebrow, in either concern or disbelief, and touching his lips. “Am I to take it that you wish for me to ... ?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then.”

Killian didn’t miss a beat, wrapping an arm around her waist, while his other swept up her back and into her hair, drawing her to him. His hand left her hair as he traced a path to her face, thumb following the line of her jaw and moving to her lower lip. The admiration in his gaze stole her breath. She looked back at him with wonder. What stirred inside of her went well beyond physical need. 

Up close, there was a dimple in his left cheek that she hadn’t seen before. It should have made him look more innocent, but it had entirely the opposite effect when coupled with his heavy-lidded eyes and beard. He  _ was _ danger embodied. The sort of man that other women’s mothers warned them about.

Lucky, she thought. Nobody had ever thought to warn her.

Then he threaded both his hands into her long curls and lowered his head to the hollow above her collar bone. The low rumble of his accented voice vibrated against her skin, as he sucked and kissed his way up to a spot beneath her ear that made her arm hairs stand on end.  _ Ahhh, you like when I do that with my tongue do you, love? ... You smell fucking amazing ... Vanilla cake ... Do you know what I thought about all night? ... What you would taste like ... When I ... mmm. _ Frissons of excitement spread through her body, as his words grew more erotic and his kisses more insistent.

When her body was fully alight, he pulled away and smoothed his hands down her sides, back up again, and brought them around to the back of her dress to unzip. A breeze hit her exposed skin as the dress loosened, and he ran a finger-tip back and forth slowly across the neckline, edging it down in a tantalizingly slow dance that raised gooseflesh all over her body.

“That feels ... Ohhhh.”

“Wa-hey! It seems we are missing something here. No bra for you this evening, Swan?”

“Have you seen this dress?”

“Darling, I think I have it memorized.”

He teased the fabric until it fell below her breasts, and she was struck with the indecency of it all. She glanced towards the docks. “Do you think anyone could be watching us?”

“No one can see us up here. Too dark.”

He was right. Although there was enough filtered light to see each other, they were too far into the shadows and too high up for anyone to grasp what was happening. 

Struck with a sudden need to touch him, Emma lifted her hand to the waist of his pants — which she could see were straining with the pressure of his hardened (and impressive) length — and started to tug his shirt out.

He sucked air through his teeth. “Unh, unh, unh. No, love. Tonight is all about you.”

“Can’t I just-”

A startled hiss of breath escaped as Killian’s head dropped and his mouth closed over her breast. With his head this close, there was nothing stopping her from smelling his hair. The scent was some combination of tropical herbs, wood and leather. She raked her fingers through it, something she’d wanted to do since she first saw him. Holding his head in her hand while he coaxed all the nerves in her breasts to attention gave her an entirely different kind of buzz from the one she’d just shaken off. Up until this point, she’d never thought that part of her body was so sensitive, but  _ Holy Shit  _ he’d changed her mind on that. In fact, when he rolled a hard peak between his thumb and forefinger, it sent a biting surge right down to her center that made her moan. She tugged on his hair involuntarily; those crystal blue eyes met hers for just a moment — dark pools of iniquity — and her desire increased ten-fold.

Sex for her up until this point had been about efficient fulfillment of need. Killian clearly didn’t ascribe to that same principle where she was concerned. Slow, controlled and torturous seemed to be his aim. The reaction that elicited in her was the opposite; she was nearly crazed for more, faster, harder. When he shifted up her body, she took the opportunity to slide her hands under his shirt and up his stomach, splaying them out across his chest. Beneath, he was all taut muscle and springy curls; and for not the first time, she found her imagination was no match for the real thing when it came to Mayor Jones. She flicked his nipples, eliciting a groan, before walking her fingers down to his waist, where she began to unbuckle his belt.

Killian laughed, batting her away playfully, “Did anyone ever tell you that you have trouble listening to directions?”

“Uh-oh. Are you going to get Sheriff Nolan to come and write me a ticket?” She slid the belt out, undeterred.

“That depends. Will you keep your hands to yourself?”

She paused, considering. “I can’t say for sure.”

“Aye?” He leaned back on his feet, and tipped his head sideways, an ornery look on his face. “You know what happens to delinquents in this town?” He ran his palms up her thighs — pushing her dress up to her waist — and back down to her knees, drawing her legs apart with gentle pressure. “They have to face the consequences.”

Emma taunted, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Mr. Mayor.”

Killian snaked a hand up the inside of her thigh, caressing the front of her lacy thong and down along the edge, the tip of his finger slipping along her slick folds and dipping lightly into her. Her whole body jolted and Killian hummed in satisfaction.

“Fuck. You’re so wet, love.” He grasped the top of the triangle of fabric and held it taut, pulling it up and down through that wetness, once, twice. Then he had her underwear off and on the deck somewhere behind them. 

His eyes locked on hers while he slowly twisted the rings from his hands and laid them down carefully. Why the hell was that so hot? Spreading her wider, he knelt before her. The rough tip of his index finger moved against her and she sighed. Finally. 

Killian read her body like a book; every spasm, every twist, every sound she made, he seemed to memorize. He asked her precisely how and where it was she liked to be touched. When he curved a digit just enough — in just the right way — and she seized, he groaned and remarked how good he wanted to make her feel. This desperate need of his to thoroughly chart every erogenous spot on her body made her think for the first time that maybe he had plans for her beyond this night. She shuddered just imagining another night like this. He added another finger, moving separately, and she let him know just how good  _ that  _ felt. She had been at the pleasuring herself thing for at least fifteen years, but she thought that it was possible he was as skilled at this as she was. Then, he hit that glorious place that made starbursts appear before her eyes and she didn’t think about anything else.

“There we go,” he said, in response to her protracted moan. “You like that?”

Emma couldn’t answer. He had added his thumb, sliding more insistently over her clit, and she started to feel a familiar warmth grow. It wouldn’t be long now. 

Then his hand withdrew and she was suddenly frustratingly empty.

“What? Wait. No.  _ No _ .”

“You want more, do you?”

“Shut up and finish, Killian.”

“Hmmm,” he said, regarding her through slitted eyes. “I intend to finish only when I’ve drained every last ounce of pleasure from your body, Swan.” 

She growled and he laughed at her frustration.

Killian leaned down to finish what he started, then glanced back up at her, shook his head. “Fuck. I just- You look so- Just one more thing.”

He quickly wiped his hand on his leg and lunged for her, grasping her by the head with both hands and kissing her recklessly. His leg was between hers, the rough material of his jeans rubbed against her now- fully-aroused bare skin; and he devoured her. All of her senses were consumed by Killian. Every inch of his perfect body was hers to explore. Every sound she heard was him: the moans when they kissed, the breathless pants when she touched, and the sharp gasps when she bit. Every taste — all him. 

When they both broke apart — her, wide-eyed and panting — he, looking for all the world like she imagined an animal in full rut might look, he exhaled.

“Now to keep that promise, love.”

With a wicked grin, he slid his hands to her hips and pulled her to him. He dipped his head to drop a kiss on her navel. Her pelvis. Her hip bone. Her-

“Ahhhh. Oh God, Killian. Ah! Holy fuck.”

But he didn’t respond. His mouth was on her now, tasting, sucking, tongue flicking — revisiting the places he knew made her writhe. Despite her inability to control the rise and fall of her body, he was unflagging in his ministrations. He worshipped her with his mouth, while his hands held fast to her, and his shoulders pressed at her thighs. She began to feel as though she were made of glass and one more touch would shatter her into a million pieces. And just as she was about to break, again he moved away from her. 

His hair was a wreck. His expression was self-satisfied. Bastard. She would make him pay for this.

“I like the way you curse like a sailor when you’re just about to let yourself go.”

“No, I don’t,” Emma panted, desperate for him to finish what he started. 

“Aye, you do. And I intend to hear it again.”

Killian lifted her legs up and over his shoulders. His right hand snaked around the fabric bunched at her hip and down. When a swipe of his thumb made her convulse, she heard his laugh.  _ That’s enough of that _ , she thought, and grabbed his hair to pull him to her. When the rasp of his stubble met her skin, she bucked and moaned. Then his tongue was on her, in her, moving across and circling around all the spots his fingers had mapped earlier, as though he’d already memorized how precisely to give her pleasure. 

Fragmented, incoherent thoughts began to float across her mind — a snippet of a song playing at the Rabbit Hole, the feel of the wool beneath her, the way Killian’s necklace clanged on the ground as he moved. Her toes were curled, heels now pressed into his back, and she was grabbing at the blanket fabric so hard she was sure it would tear. A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead.

She made a mental note to text Lily:  _ He’s cinnamon _ .  _ Definitely. _

Killian’s tongue slipped back to her clit, she felt him shift, and he thrust three fingers into her. She cried out. Finally he was giving her the exquisite pressure she craved against that spot he had discovered — which his tongue had sought but had not reached. She cursed loudly as he continued to move and her thighs clenched around his head; Killian’s wicked chuckle reverberated through her. She looked down and found his eyes, darkly-lidded and intent, framed between her legs. That sight alone was enough to drive her nearly to orgasm. A light butterfly caress of his tongue and another thrust of his hand was all it took. Her release came with a shout of ecstasy that was probably audible at Granny’s. He continued to work his fingers, bringing on wave after wave of pleasure.

“That was ... ” Emma said, still catching her breath.

“Aye?” He wiped his face with a hand towel, adjusted his jaw, and delicately offered to clean her as well. She obliged.

“Are you willing to recant your earlier statement? Was I ‘talking a big game?’ Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy yourself. I could  _ feel  _ that you did. Bloody well could hear it.”

He was not wrong. Her limbs felt more relaxed than they ever had. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she felt this good. Certainly not at Neal’s hands. He barely gave a thought to her needs. Minimal foreplay and calculated movements. 

_ Oh, Fuuuck _ . Neal. In the waning afterglow, the leaden weight of guilt started to grow in her stomach. Hot on the heels of that reality came self-consciousness.

Emma heard a creak somewhere below. “Shhhh.” 

“You want  _ me _ to be quiet now, love? It’s entirely plausible residents of Portland were awakened by your dulcet tones.”

“I wasn’t that loud. You don’t want your friend, the sheriff, to come and arrest us for trespassing or disorderly conduct or something.”

“Those are just normal ship noises you’re hearing. Besides, it’s not trespassing.”

“What do you call this?”

“Enjoying the company of a beautiful, intoxicating woman on the deck of my ship.”

In her post-orgasmic haze, she could’ve sworn he said, “Your ... ?” Emma’s stomach dropped. This was a massive ship. A ship that tourists paid money to take day trips on. The mayor doesn’t just captain it, he owns it.

Terrific.

Sexy, powerful  _ and  _ rich. Far richer than she thought possible. 

Okay, yes. He had the car. And the suits. But, she lived in the city. That was par for the course. Loads of guys dumped all their money into the flashy stuff, ran up their credit and lived like slobs. It’s not like he had to pay for his house. That was on Storybrooke’s tab. As was his salary. Which she had looked up. It was  _ not  _ enough money to buy and maintain a flipping Tall Ship. Not even close. In all her research she had not seen any mention that Killian Jones was a millionaire. Billionaire?! She had found no hint he was the one behind the trust. 

Her job was to uncover corruption and, like a huge exclamation point, the man who had just mouth fucked her into next year had probably more money than everyone in this town combined. She had willingly handed over control of her body to this man, thereby opening something she hadn’t exposed to anyone, ever...and in so doing, she had lost her good senses. How could she be so blind?

What had she done?

~~~~


	11. Chapter 11

Emma’s pulse was hammering in her throat. In a heartbeat, she was grabbing her underwear, the shoes, her bag and darting towards the edge of the boat.

Standing over the spot where she had experienced the most incredible orgasm only moments before, was Killian, his brown hair still sticking up in the spots where her hands had been threaded into it. He’d hooked his right thumb into his waistband and was watching her with humor mingled with confusion.

Rocking up onto his toes, he said, “That’s quite an unexpected response.”

“Sorry. I just remembered I have something.”

“At two in the morning, love?”

“No. Uh. Early tomorrow.” She looked down, trying to think of the right thing to say. Unfortunately there was nothing she could say that suited the situation.  _ Thanks for making me cum all over the deck of your ship, now I have to go investigate the hell out of you? _

“I’ll talk to you soon, Killian,” she said.

“I’d wager you will.” He lifted his hand to his chin, stroking his knuckles across his stubble. He made no move to follow her. “I’d offer to walk you back to your place, but something tells me you won’t accept.”

“You’d be right.” She stepped off the boat onto the stairs, straightening her dress as she went, to the sound of his voice behind her warning her,  _ That first step is a bloody hazard _ . She probably said thank you. Or not. She wasn’t sure.

There was a delicious throb between her legs — one of the merits of facial hair. Thank God she didn’t let her body do the decision making, otherwise she’d be up on that boat going in for another round.

As she set foot on the dock she looked up to find him leaning over the railing, shaking his head and grinning. “Never a dull moment with you, Swan. Is this to be how we always part?”

Emma chortled — a bit louder than necessary — but couldn’t muster a comeback. 

She was halfway up the docks, when she heard the muffled sound of laughter floating to her on the breeze.

~~~~

“So, reading between the lines, you met a guy last night? And?”

“Really? Do we have to do this? I’m not in the mood right now.”

There wasn’t an answer, but she was certain Lily was rolling her eyes on the other end of the line.

“Fine,” Emma said, defeated. “It was  _ him.  _ And — since I know you’re going to ask — you were right.”

“Right about wha- Ohhhh. Cinnamon. Hot damn! You got some.”

She thought about that. In the strictest sense ... she supposed she had. Emma hummed to herself as she mulled it over, tipping her head sideways to catch a glimpse of the Jolly Roger through the inn window as she did so. The late morning summer sunlight showed it to be vacant, from what she could see.

“What’s that noise you’re making?”

“I was just thinking. I didn’t ‘get some’ precisely.”

“What do you mean by that? Either you did or you didn’t.” She snorted, then continued, “Emma, dear, has nobody ever given you  _ The Talk?  _ All that time with Neal. I just assumed you-”

“Oh, cut it out.” She blew out a breath, exasperated at her friend’s persistence. “Let’s just say, he did all the work.”

Lily let out a soft low whistle as comprehension dawned. “I  _ like _ this guy.”

“Yep. So ...”

“So. Why are you on the phone with me and not moving on to the second act?”

“I had to go,” Emma said, a tad too forcefully. 

“Will you answer me if I ask why?”

“No,” Emma said. Hearing a protracted sigh on the other end, she relented. “Okay, but don’t kill me. It’s Mayor Jones.”

“What?! Damn. You sure do know how to pick them. The one you were sent to investigate?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I know.”

“So aside from the conflict of interest, what’s your major problem with him? Does he have bad breath or something?”

Emma thought about it. She had been thinking about this ever since she woke up, truth be told. In the light of day, the initial shock about Killian’s hidden wealth had settled into more of an existential dread. She had trusted her instincts, which were never wrong, and opened herself up to this man, only to find that maybe she was wrong. Maybe her superpower was broken?

“Listen. He has a lot of money. Way more money than I knew about. He owns this huge ship in a secret trust.”

“You do realize how insane that sounds, Emma? Some people actually want guys  _ because  _ they have money.”

“Now that I say it out loud, yes. It sounds silly. But, here’s the thing. I thought Killian — I mean — Mayor Jones was different. There’s something about him specifically I’ve never encountered. Which is saying something because the people in this town are nearly all unusually nice. But, even they are prone to a bit of tall telling. However, Killian is all that  _ and  _ he’s the most straightforward person I’ve met. No hidden agenda. No lies.”

“I’m not hearing anything I dislike.”

Emma exhaled. “Yes. But, now there’s this really really big lie I can’t ignore. I’m worried I was wrong about him.”

“Did you ever ask him if he was rich?”

Emma took a minute to think “No.”

“Did you ever ask him outright if that boat belonged to him?”

“No.” 

“And you did say that he had, and I quote, ‘a fancy suit fetish.’” She paused. “So, he wasn’t lying.”

Hearing it that way, some of the dread started to dissipate. Emma huffed out, “Okay. Yeah. But-”

“Emma, honey. Perhaps, this guy isn’t worth trusting. You might be right. But — and please don’t kill me for saying this — I would like to point out the one thing that I know about you after all these years. Your default setting is trust no one. I just worry that somewhere along the line you’re going to cheat yourself out of something good because you aren’t willing to have a little faith that your default is going to be wrong once in a while.”

Emma wanted to argue but Lily was right. She  _ did  _ default to distrust.

There was a clenching sensation in her chest. She didn’t like the way she felt when she thought or talked about Killian. Exposed. Flustered.  _ Excited.  _ Maybe she had been a little hasty with her judgement but she’d never felt this way before. Nobody had gotten under her defenses the way Killian did and it scared her to death.

A beep sounded in her ear.  _ Damn. _ “Lily, it’s Neal. I have to take care of this.”

“I do  _ not  _ envy this conversation.”

She groaned. He could not have picked a worse time. “Good-bye Lily.”

Pressing the flash button, she girded herself.

“Neal.”

“Emma. Anything you want to tell me about your article?” Neal said with an edge to his voice.

“Not about the article. Not yet. There’s something else I’ve been wanting to talk about.”

“I’ll say there’s something else.”

It had only been a few hours, he couldn’t possibly know what happened the night before. Was he pissed the article was taking so long? She stared down at her phone, and found an image loading.

“What are you sending me Neal?”

He was laughing sardonically.

“I don’t get the joke.”

“Oh you will.”

Just as he said it, the image came into focus. _ Fucking Regina _ . This was definitely her doing. She had sent Neal a picture of Emma leaning into Killian, in the back of the Rabbit Hole, his fingers on her hair. Emma’s face wasn’t visible, but Killian’s was. He was utterly rapt. She could only imagine the text message that had accompanied  _ that  _ picture.

“Want to explain that, Emma?” Neal bit out.

“Yeah,” she said smoothly. “I see your number one crack reporter using her feminine wiles to charm information out of the primary focus of my investigation. You would know this is one of the tools in my bag of tricks being as you were the one who helped teach them to me.”

There was silence. She knew him well enough to know he was simply regrouping for his next attack. She was going to head him off at the pass.

“You know,” Emma said. “I don’t know where in your life you picked up Regina Mills as an acquaintance, Neal, but that woman isn’t motivated by the greater good. She’s motivated by revenge. Not a reliable source if you ask me.”

“Not reliable? Did you not leave the bar with the mayor? Looking cozy. Was that part of your strategy too?”

“Lots of people leave at the same time. Can we get off of this point, Neal? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you forever. There’s something I need to say to you.”

His voice was tight and angry now, “No, we can not get off this point. If you haven’t forgotten, I’m your boss too. Have you found time — when you aren’t spreading your legs for the male population of Storybrooke — to actually do the job you were sent there to do?”

Neal’s words hit her like a slap. Instantly, she felt her stomach churn in disgust. That was low even for him.

“That was uncalled for, Neal,” she croaked out. “But it makes what I have to say so much easier: We are over.”

“Over?” he asked with genuine shock. For the first time, Emma wondered if she had been wrong about why he was avoiding her. Had he not known she wanted to break up? But before she could say anything he said angrily,“You’re fucking right we’re over, Emma. And as far as this story you were supposedly working on, the deadline for the first draft is next Friday.”

Her mind was swimming with anger and confusion, but not enough for her to miss the way his sentence dropped at the end. He was going to hang up on her. She had no idea when she’d get him on the phone again and there  _ was  _ something else she had to say. “Neal wait! About the story! I’ve been working my ass off here. With no help at all from you, I’d add. I know you won’t believe me, but there’s something bigger here that touches more than the mayor’s office, and I’ve been poring over articles, financials, and pulling in all the interns I can. There’s this guy here - Gold - I think he’s got more to do with this than the mayor. I need more time to be sure.”

“Gold?” Neal asked levelly, and Emma couldn’t understand what she was hearing in his voice. 

“This pawnbroker in town. Yeah,” she said, hoping she could cut through his feelings around their breakup and reach the reporter whose help she needed.

“I have to go. Take all the time you need.”

The line went dead. That was… bizarre.

She was a mess of emotions. Emma threw the mobile phone back down on her bed and paced her room. Why did every fight with Neal end like this? Him having the last word and her left in the wreckage. 

The worst part about it was that — despite her desire to ignore this recent bit of vitriol — Neal had touched a nerve. Like he always did. Goddammit, this one stung. She  _ had _ let her feelings for Killian cloud her judgement. Last night had been incredible. Almost too good to be true. But ... She glanced down at the image Neal had sent of the two of them — at Killian’s awestruck expression. She knew she should be angry when she looked at this, but she wasn’t. In fact, seeing him look at her like  _ that  _ made her heart pump a bit faster. Was Lily right? Was she cheating herself out of something good by jumping to conclusions?

She downed her morning glass of water and two Advil, the second half of her never-fail hangover prevention ritual. Night of and morning after. Headache and nausea were definitely things she didn’t have time for.

With her sights set on getting back to her investigation, she shrugged on her new pink t-shirt and jean shorts and grabbed her bag and tablet. She was going to break this story. Even if it meant learning something awful about her tall, dark and sexy mayor along the way. God, though, she hoped she didn’t.

Taking a bracing breath of cool air before opening the door, she left.

~~~~

It was noon on Sunday and Killian waved to the tight knots of people who passed him in the street — on their way to lunch after church or to the one small stretch of beach that boasted actual sand. His concession to the heat today — as it was his day off (although he never truly had a day off) — was a white linen button down and relaxed khakis. 

“Hey! Killian!” A voice called from behind.

“Mary Margaret,” he held the door to the deli for her and followed her to the queue.

“Quite a night that was,” she said as they settled into line, shooting him a mischievous glance.

Immediately he thought of Emma — dress hiked to her waist and feet digging into his back — and he couldn’t prevent the tug of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Hmm. Aye.”

She eyed him, then looked around them, considering. He knew precisely what she was thinking. That there were too many people around for them to have an open conversation about his after-pub activities. 

“Don’t worry,” she said, quietly. “Nothing happened.”

What was she talking about? Enough had happened that he’d spent a good portion of the morning fantasizing about getting Emma back under him, and then wanking off to try and clear his head. It hadn’t worked.

He looked closely at her face and that was when it hit him, albeit a bit belatedly, that she was talking about David and not him.

“You do realize that I’m the last person who would begrudge you if the opposite were true?”

Stepping forward a bit in line, she said, “And yet it is not.” Then he felt a small pinch at his waist and almost yelped. “Why are we talking about me, anyway? Is there anything you want to say, Killian?”

At this, he looked down at her, eyes narrowed and said in a level tone, “No.”

She laughed out loud just once, enough to catch the attention of everyone nearby, and then shook her head. “Okay. Have it your way.”

He didn’t even know what to say to her anyway. He wasn’t going to betray Emma’s dignity by hinting at just how intimate the night had gotten. Perhaps Mary Margaret had gotten accustomed to David’s Monday morning quarterbacking of his extracurricular activities. But — and he was loath to admit it to himself after the way she left — last night had been about far more than a passing dalliance. 

Yet again, like that day in City Hall, she had opened up to him. She had dropped a little more of that wall she kept around her like an armor and made him feel that perhaps he was beginning to truly know Emma Swan. He had reciprocated by letting her in on his most tightly held secret.

And, yet again, she had run away.

“You can go first, Killian. I haven’t decided,” Mary Margaret said. He hadn’t even realized he was at the counter.

Minutes later, he was holding a couple of turkey wraps, two bags of chips and two bottles of water, and he’d bid farewell to the ever-cheerful object of David’s affection. His mind was still firmly on Emma Swan. This woman was going to end him — one way or another. Either his career, or his life as a single man.

He chuckled to himself at that last thought.  _ Don’t be daft. _

“Well you’re in good spirits, Killian,” David said from behind him, as he neared the station.

“Hmm?”

“Care to enlighten your good friend?”

“Not particularly, no,” he said, handing David his wrap and water.

“Emma.”

Killian stopped and stared at David. He did not want to have this conversation. Just like he hadn’t wanted to with Mary Margaret. Maybe never. Definitely not now.

“It’s Emma. Look, man, I know you. And I have to be honest — I haven’t seen you like this since — well…. Milah.” David took a bite of his wrap and used his hip to open the station door. The cool air hit them as they entered and both sighed appreciatively.

“Nolan. For the love of all that’s holy, do not make an ordeal out of this. I can see that look in your eye and I can tell you are already planning my nuptials. It’s very early and it’s ... complicated.”

“Do you have plans with her today?”

“No. I don’t know where she is, and, further, I don’t even have her phone number. I couldn’t reach her to make plans should I care to do so.”

“Do you want her number? She texted me about yesterday. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

“She’ll give it to me when she’s ready,” he said, fiddling with his ear.

Thinking of her made him antsy. He didn’t like feeling so out of control. He needed to switch topics. “I just saw Mary Margaret. She said ‘nothing happened.’ Care to enlighten your old friend what really transpired?”

“She’s telling the truth. I got called away not long after you left. Her parents. I swear somebody was watching us and tipping them off.”

“I would call that paranoia in any other town, but you very well could be right.”

“In a strange turn of events, Sidney asked me to join him and Regina at their table.”

“Did you?”

“No. He hasn’t been himself for a while now. His involvement in Regina’s smear campaign against you didn’t endear me to him, that’s for sure. Of course I play nice on game night. But outside of that, I guess you could say we had a parting of the ways.”

“Aye, same. We used to get on quite brilliantly. Now, it’s like we’re strangers. He said nothing to me at the pub.”

“I don’t know if the Rabbit Hole qualifies as a pub, Killian.”

“Semantics, Dave,” he said, taking a pull from his water bottle. “Point being, ever since Liam died, everything changed. I thought he would be there for me. But he wasn’t. I’ll never understand it. I thought it was grief at first, but it just dragged on.”

“Now he’s giving you the cold shoulder.”

“More like glacial.”

“This may have something to do with it, Killian.” He opened a green folder and handed a sheet to Killian, eyebrows furrowed.

“What’s this?”

“I don’t really know for sure. It’s a thread. It’s something.”

Finally. He was going to get answers to whatever bleeding nonsense was going on. Killian knew that pulling on this thread was likely going to rip at the seam of his own administration. But losing his position was a small price to pay if he could do right by the town.

“Nolan.”

“What?”

“Thank you, mate.”

“You haven’t seen it yet. It’s not even all that much, just something else to try to figure out, you know?”

“Not for this. For everything,” he said, clapping David on the shoulder.

The sheriff took the opportunity to pull Killian in for a hug. “Anytime,  _ mate. _ ”

Killian leaned back to stare Dave in the eyes. “Don’t make this awkward.”

“Right, yeah,” he mumbled, backing into the desk and trying to casually pull off a cross-armed lean.

“I’ll give this a look.”

“No problem. I’ll be ... here.”

**~~~~**


	12. Chapter 12

Emma’s boots picked over crushed shells. She squinted out across the sunlit waves stretching to the horizon and then back towards the docks. The sun scorched overhead, and Emma tugged her ponytail out and twisted her hair into a more compact top knot. Anything to alleviate the heat prickling on her neck. She wasn’t sure what to wear for this particular meeting — her subject was utterly indecipherable — so she’d gone with jeans and a floral sleeveless shirt. She was regretting the jeans.

_ Shit. Why is it still so hot? _

It was a Sunday, so all town offices were closed, but Emma was undeterred.

As Smee had told her, Mr. Glass helped with the bookkeeping from time to time. And she was certain he must have helped with the documents Regina gave to her. She had to talk to him.

Sidney had furtively slid his gaze towards her more than once, when she’d happened upon him in town. Never gave the indication he would talk to her if she approached him. So, she had done a little reconnaissance to determine where the best place she could “bump into him” alone would be. The bonus was getting to find all new cafes and restaurants to fall in love with. In passing, she overheard a conversation where it was mentioned that Glass spent his time down at the docks fishing on Sundays. Perfect. If he didn’t want to talk, it would be hard to easily escape without having to pack up all the lures and rods.

It took her a while to find which pier he was fishing from that day. She could make out his dignified form from a distance, his dark curls under a tan panama hat, wearing a white t-shirt and green shorts. When the pounding of her boots against the wood gave away her approach, he looked back. His head spun to his assorted items. Assessing how long it would take to get out of there, she gathered.

Before he had a chance to try, she moved into his space and held out her hand. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Emma Swan.”

Ignoring the proffered appendage, he said with contempt, “Miss Swan, I assume you already know far more than just my name.”

“I do. I’d like a minute of your time.”

“I don’t want to go on the record. We all know you’re not doing a travel story.”

“Whatever you want. I’d still like to talk.”

He turned his back on her and grabbed the pole that was stuck into a PVC pipe attached to the pier, reeling in the animatedly jumping line.

“Your wish is my command,” he said derisively. “What do you want to know?”

“How long have you known Regina Mills?”

“A long time. I became closer with her because of Robin.”

“Robin Locksley?”

“Yes.” He looked back at Emma gauging ... something ... then turned around to unhook and release a small fish. He cast the line again.

“How long have you been in love with Regina?”

He dropped the pole. “Shit!” He grabbed it and shoved it into the pipe, whirling on her. “I am not in love with her. I’m trying to pro-”

Sidney stopped himself and repeated, “I’m not in love with her. She’s a friend. A dear friend.”

Emma looked him in the eyes. She could see it was true.

“Well, if you don’t love her, why are you indulging her every desire to take down her political opponent? The race is over. You don’t need to help her get revenge. What’s your motivation?”

“What makes you think I want her to do this? What makes you think I’ve ever wanted her to go after Killian? For one, he was my friend, too. She gets these things in her head and I can’t stop her. I spend most of my days trying to save her from herself. Do you think she consulted me before she dug up whatever papers she gave to you? No. Did I want her to come to you? Hell no. And I know damn well you’re not going to drop it — are you?”

Emma shook her head.

“I figured. So, the best I can do now is make sure nobody attaches her to the article you’re working on.”

He didn’t just have a hunch what she was working on. He knew everything about it. “Why, Mr. Glass? Why would you want her to stay quiet?”

“I have nothing more to say to you Miss Swan. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll let this story die. It’s in everyone’s best interest. Yours as well.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a fact.”

“One more question.” On this one she was throwing a dart she wasn’t sure was going to hit any mark. Still — it had worked with Smee. “What connection do you have to Mr. Gold?”

The way his eyes flashed and then face went stony was answer enough for Emma.

She smiled. “Yes. I thought so.”

“Go.  _ Now _ .”

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Glass.”

~~~~

Emma had set herself up in Granny’s for dinner with an excellent grilled cheese sandwich as the main course, and with her laptop; she needed to do some work. Munching on an onion ring, she hummed over the battered and fried perfection. Was the food making her this content, or the absolute ease she felt just being in that diner? she wondered. Perhaps it was more of the latter than she cared to admit — from Ruby’s warm greetings, to Granny knowing precisely what she wanted before she asked, to assorted people all offering kind words as she took her place in the last booth in the back — she was feeling like she simply fit. Even the gnawing doubt she had felt earlier in the day about Killian, and the truth he dropped on her like a bomb, had dissipated after her conversation with Lily. 

In fact, her mood had lifted enough that she felt the edges of her story starting to take shape. The facts and leads were still this amorphous thing, but she knew that if she wrote some of her ideas down, she might pick up that thread her mind was starting to spin. Taking a bite, she angled her tablet away from prying eyes and stared at her “Leads” file. She looked it over, grimaced, then deleted everything, and brought out her keyboard to type:

_ Regina Mills loses election to Killian Jones. She tries to find dirt to bring him down. Revenge or genuine concern? _

_ Sidney Glass does the financials. Helps Smee. He knows more than Regina does?? Knows about article. Shielding her from something. _

_ Suspicious companies show up repeatedly in financials of different Town departments. _

_ Smee is hiding something. Knows about Southeast Clearing House ... likely the others. _

_ Glass and Smee don’t want to be associated with Gold outside of club. _

_ Gold has shady business dealings. Had (has?) money to spare. Computer lab 2003. _

_ Robin Locksley, fiancé of Regina — Disappeared. Related? _

_ Killian Jones is well liked by most constituents and employees. Lost his brother. _

She hesitated before typing the next line.

_ Killian Jones is secret owner of expensive boat. Became very wealthy in very short number of years. Suspicious? _

_ | _

Emma stared at the blinking cursor. She yanked her notebook out, turned it sideways, and wrote the names down of anyone she thought might be relevant in circles across the page: Killian, Regina, Sidney, Smee, Gold, Liam, David, Robin. She circled each name and started to draw connecting lines onto which she wrote how they are associated. What was she missing?  _ Who _ was she missing?

She took another bite of her sandwich and closed her eyes; her mind was beginning to fog again with the possibilities. She rearranged the facts and names in her mind until frustration took over and she couldn’t think anymore.

Her neck was stiff, so she rolled it around as she took in the packed room. At some point in the last few minutes, the good mayor had come in and sat himself down at the counter. Her pulse kicked up. The man was quite a sight — effortlessly gorgeous in his beachy linens. And his hair was just shy of perfect. Which, ironically, made it perfect. She wondered if he pulled that little lock out of place on purpose.

Surely he’d noticed her. Why hadn’t he attempted to join her? She tried to decide if she was hurt or relieved. She supposed the way she left him may have given him the impression she wanted time alone. Or, away from him. And she had already discovered, in their short time together, that it was in the moments when she was most vulnerable that he was the most patient — the most willing to wait for her cue. Perhaps he was waiting for her cue?

What was that going to be?

Her phone was sitting there on the table and she unlocked the screen. The photo from the night before was right there. The two of them, in a moment that — in the light of day — made her heart skip. Knowing what it led to. How it made her feel. How she wanted to feel that way again. Now it wasn’t her heart that was pulsing. She looked over at him, and saw that his face was cheated more towards where she sat. She watched as he licked a bit of food from his lip, and wondered if she’d ruined her chances of him putting that mouth on her in the future.

Fucking Neal. Little had he known that in trying to hurt her with that picture, he had both given her cause to yearn for Killian a bit more and he had also freed her of any guilt she might have had about doing so.

Thinking about what Lily had said before that fateful break-up, she decided she was going to do something different. She was going to give trust a try. 

She swiped a napkin across her mouth and tried to catch his attention. He turned and looked around, unsure that it was him she was signaling. Finding no one she could possibly know in his proximity, his entire expression brightened. He cocked his head as if to ask permission to join her. She gestured with her hand to the seat opposite her at the booth.

He lifted his plate and glass and, after a word to Granny, he made his way over to her. Granny tactfully avoided staring at the mayor and the journalist, unlike most of the people in the diner. Of course, Emma knew why they were curious.  _ Most eligible bachelor in Storybrooke joins big-shot Boston reporter, also single, for dinner.  _ It was almost worthy of a front-page headline. Given the fact it was a Sunday, and she had beckoned him halfway through her meal, it was clearly not a pre-planned business appointment. Anyone with eyes could see that.

Killian sat his plate of club sandwich and chips in front of her and slipped into the booth, leaning back to take her in. Then he said slowly and softly, “Swan,” in a tenor that made her arm hairs rise.

“Jones.” She put her computer away; no more work would be done at this point. Besides, he probably wouldn’t like what he saw there.

“You look lovely in pink. I wasn’t sure you were up for, ah, fraternizing.”

“I wasn’t sure either. But here we are,” she said.

“What have you been up to since we ...” He suggestively touched his tongue to his teeth and swirled his index finger.

Her blood began to warm. Moments into their interaction and her hormones were already going to get her into trouble. She needed to keep a clear head, stay objective. There were still things she needed to know about him, still things to understand, before she could let this thing of theirs slip into that territory again. 

She shot a warning glance at him. “Working on my story. About that.” She leaned forward; whispered, “That was a one-time thing. You know that, right?” 

He leaned forward, as well - met her eyes with a conspiratorial look - and matched her volume. “Of course. A one-one time thing. And you are quite certain about that?”

_ No,  _ she thought, but didn’t say it. Unfortunately she could feel her cheeks flushing, threatening to give her away. “Let’s not talk about this now.”

“The lady can blush.”

Emma blinked slowly. “Killian. I can’t ... do this with you. Not yet, anyway.”

“Is this about my money?”

So he was going for the direct approach. She didn’t know what she expected. Circumspect wasn’t precisely his style.

Choosing her words slowly and carefully, she said, “It’s not just about the money, no. I’m just worried because-”

“Because you’re doing a story about political corruption and you think that I’m embezzling or committing some other dastardly crime?” He was in her space, speaking softly.

Quiet or not, his pinpoint accuracy made her do a movie-quality double take. Her response, in turn, was a bit louder and more accusatory than she’d have liked. “How did you know that?!” 

The locals at neighboring tables didn’t even pretend to not stare. She imagined this was going to make for the most fantastic gossip in weeks.

“Two and two, Emma. You clearly knew Regina before last night. She has made it her life’s work to make me as miserable as possible and you’re a reporter, so ... ” He shrugged and continued in a whisper. “If I needed any more clue as to what angle you were working, love, it was your rapid departure whilst still in the throes of the best orgasm of your life. At the very mention of the ship’s true owner — which I’d ask you to kindly not spread around — you bolted.” He leaned back, arms crossed behind his head, saying, “Obvious conclusion.”

Her eyes darted around at the neighboring patrons. Everyone was either extremely interested in their food or smart enough to look away. Odd that Killian’s attitude towards her seemed so friendly given the fact he had so fully discerned what she was up to. Shouldn’t he be angry? “So why are you here with me now? Despite all that, I mean.”

“You’re just doing your job. I’ve seen how dogged you are. If anyone is going to find out the real story it is going to be you. I want to be there when you catch your break. For two reasons — one, something  _ is _ amiss in this town. Since I know everything I’m doing is above-board, I want to help you find the rot.”

“The other reason?”

“Ah, well.” He scratched his ear. “I want to spend more time with you. If I have to be plain about it.”

A tension that Emma was carrying in her shoulders released. The hopeful set of his face was a supplication and it was answered in a trip of her heart. Opening the door to trusting Killian wasn’t as frightening as she thought it might be.

“I believe you, Killian. We work together, then?”

His delight was infectious. He reached out to squeeze her hand once before letting go.

“You know Swan, I have the feeling we’re going to make quite the team.”

~~~~


	13. Chapter 13

Killian groaned loudly.

There was no greater joy than being hit with a wall of artificially cooled air unexpectedly. His secretary deserved a hefty raise for what he discovered was a newly installed automatic timer on the window unit.

The day was already infinitely better than most. Today, he had woken up after a blissfully dreamless sleep, with the knowledge that he would get to spend most of his waking hours alongside the wonderfully complicated creature named Emma Swan. Had it only been a couple weeks since he first laid eyes on her?

He felt a twinge of nervousness, knowing that he was helping her to research a story about his own administration. Would she trust him less if she discovered that so many years of his life were spent as a criminal? Or would it matter at all? Weighing in his favor was that comment she made a few days ago:  _ Against my better judgement, I am beginning to trust you, Killian Jones _ .

He was halfway to his desk when there was a light knock on the doorframe followed by an audible sigh. When he turned, he found Emma with her tight white shirt lifted up, fanning the cool air to her exposed midriff, and eyes half-lidded in ecstasy. He took in her long, lithe legs, the curves of her ass, and farther up to her perfectly formed neck, where damp tendrils of curls rested against her flesh. He’d remembered tasting her skin right there, her body pliant under his busy hands. Suddenly he felt quite warm again. 

“Oh, thank God!” she said, back still to him. “I was worried you were going to be one of those stereotypically stubborn New Englanders who refused to buy an air conditioner on principle.” She gestured to her outfit. “I even went out of my way to dress for the occasion.”

“Aye?” Without thinking, he moved towards her, like the inexorable pull of a wave to the shore. “I live to surprise you, love.” When she turned to face him, he reached out to tuck a curl of hair that had fallen behind her ear.

She blinked. “Hey.”

“Hello,” he said. And for a thrilling moment he considered throwing caution to the wind and kissing her.  _ A one-time thing,  _ he reminded himself.

Exhaling sharply she said, “So! You ready for a fun-filled day of looking through paperwork? I know I am.”

He took a few steps back, a stabilizing breath, and licked his lips to speak. At least he could comfort himself with the knowledge that some part of her still wanted some part of him, because her eyes were transfixed on his mouth.

“Paperwork. Aye.”

“Where should we get started?”

“David gave me a copy of a formal request for police records from the mayor’s office.” He lifted a paper and wagged it. “Oddly, the number on the form doesn’t align with any reports he’s got in the system, or that we can find in hard copy. It’s as though it was removed from the police office records entirely.”

“That’s fishy. Sidney’s signature on the request?”

Killian looked down at the page again, for the dozenth time. “Possibly. It’s not as clear as I’m used to seeing from him, so it’s hard to tell.”

“Definitely wouldn’t be surprised. He’s hiding something.”

He wasn’t quite sure how she knew this, but her take on this was probably accurate. Particularly given her superpower. Thinking about that made him smile.

“I’ve played enough poker with the man to know that he’s particularly good at hiding things. We’ve got our work cut out for us, love. I am going to go through all the files I’ve got here. Maybe it’s still here but has been buried. Perhaps you could go through those cabinets over there?”

“Got it. And Killian?”

“What?”

“Thanks again for being so understanding about all of this. I like not having to lie to you anymore.”

Heart tripping just a bit, he said, “I like you not lying to me anymore. May I add, I also very much like those shorts.”

“They’re just shorts.”

“Ah, but I beg to differ. Perhaps in the store they were just navy shorts, but on you, love — ” his eyes were hot on her, slowly wandering the length of her legs and back up, “– they’re so much more.”

“Thanks,” she sucked in a breath, and he saw — to his absolute delight — her nipples harden beneath that unforgiving shirt of hers. “Your pants are pretty fantastic, too.”

He glanced down at his custom-cut khakis, white shirt tucked in at the waist, and laughed. He wanted to tell her that where he came from “pants” were what he wore under his trousers, and that he’d be more than happy to show  _ those  _ to her. But, despite the fact she was at least moderately aroused, he was still worried that one wrong move might scare her away again. Her agreeing to work with him on this was going to have to be enough for the time being.

“Aye? Thanks. I’ll be over here, then.”

Looking somewhere between relieved and disappointed, Emma hesitated a step and then walked over to the file cabinets. “Alright. Let’s see what’s in here.”

~~~~

A few hours later, there was a knock at the door; Ruby stepped into the office holding a couple paper bags with grease stains seeping through. She was wearing her work clothes of white tee and black shorts, and her hair was tied back. She’d left the apron at work.

“Where’s your secretary?”

“Gave her the day off. There’s something pressing I have to look into today.”

“Hmm. Okay. Well, we don’t technically do deliveries, Killian, but I was curious what you were working on that was  _ so _ important that you thought you could ask us for the first time. Ever.” She looked across the room at Emma, sitting on the leather couch, with a messy bun, the outfit he couldn’t stop thinking about, long legs tucked beneath her, and grinned at Killian, knowingly. He shot her a keep-your-thoughts-to-yourself glare.

“I see you were able to locate some more weather-appropriate attire, Emma.”

The lady in question looked up from a pile of papers, with a sticky pad in her hand and a pencil in the other. Her green eyes, which had been full of concentration the moment before, crinkled with good cheer, “Yeah, Ruby! Thanks for pointing me in the direction of a reasonably priced clothing store. Modern was the best.” She returned to her examination of one particularly interesting receipt.

Killian opened his wallet and handed a few bills over. Ruby’s eyes still had that knowing sparkle in them. Hoping he could buy her silence, he slid out another bill, and narrowed his eyes at her in warning. 

She grabbed his proffered hand of bills, tugged him towards her and whispered, “Yeah, yeah. I’ll keep your rendezvous quiet. You’re welcome for that dress the other night by the way. Now I understand why you didn’t want to come down. I wouldn’t want to leave her either.” Then she took the money, snapped her gum, and winked.

He smiled at her back as she left. She was not wrong in her assessment. “Good afternoon, Ruby.”

“Bye, Killian. Emma.”

The food smelled marvelous. They had worked clear through lunch and he was famished. He went to the small conference table and put the heart-attack inducing food out for them to eat.

“How about we take a break, Swan. For sustenance?”

“Sure.”

She stood up, carrying a few pages in her hands. “Before we eat, take a look at this. Do you know about a storage unit that the town uses for something?”

He took the paper she handed to him. “No.”

“See right there? The line item says: ‘Archer’s Equipment.’ Do you know that company?”

“Aye. Robin used to work there. I think the town uses that company for road work contracting sometimes.”

“He did? That’s- Well, let’s sock away that information for now. The important thing is that Archer’s also owns storage units.”

“You’re right. They do. I hadn’t thought about that before.”

“This regular payment to Archer’s is pretty low for road work. It would, however, be the right amount for a storage unit. At least according to the rates on their website.”

“Interesting. Are you up for a drive after lunch?”

~~~~

The Archer’s main office was well on the outskirts of town, a long ride from City Hall. Long enough for Killian and Emma to dip their toes into the waters of their pasts. Normally, she was a closed book where talking about that was concerned. Only a small handful of people in her life knew about her beginnings: Neal, Lily and Mal. However, after their dinner on Sunday and the morning they’d just spent working together, she felt a very real shift in her dynamic with Killian. While an undeniable attraction remained, something far deeper than that was taking root. So, for the first time in a long time, she felt like letting him in on some of the stories of her childhood. Killian, in turn, opened up to her.

“I knew it when David asked you about where you were from. I should have recognized it sooner, but I was so distracted by other things I missed it.” He looked over at her and grinned. If she hadn’t been sure, his smile telegraphed that she was the ‘other thing.’ “An orphan. Like me.”

“Only, you had Liam.”

“You had Lily, it seems.”

“Yeah. I suppose. We were the pair. Used our youth to get away with so much. We still got caught and split up, more than once. It must have been nice to at least have your brother there, always.”

“Aye. Truth is, he was more a father to me than my old man. It was a right shame that he couldn’t claim guardianship at sixteen when we were left alone. But Liam figured out ways to work around that. I was ten at the time, and both of us had been groomed to slide along the underbelly of society for most of our lives; thievery and grifting were what we knew. It’s how we survived.”

Emma saw the embarrassment in his eyes. She’d seen that another time, when she had spoken with him about his past. In the library. They were talking about skeletons in his closet. Shit. He was ashamed of his past, she realized. What an absolute irony — that knowing this thing about his past actually made her feel closer to him, while he seemed to think it would make her like him less. 

Hoping to assuage his fears, she said, “We’re the same that way. Aren’t we? Making good after our less-than-legal beginnings.”

He shook his head. “You really think so?”

“About what?”

“That we can just put our pasts behind us?”

“I have. And look at you. Mayor. Ship’s captain. Helping me with this story at your own risk. All weighing pretty hard to the side of upstanding and lawful.”

He breathed in and said quietly. “Thanks, Emma.”

Killian signaled a right turn and swung down a road towards an industrial park. His wallet slid across the console and he absently reached for it, but instead found Emma’s hand. Instead of pulling away, she lifted her fingers to twine into his, hoping to give him that little bit of reassurance. That she understood him. That she didn’t see him as the boy he once was. 

Killian glanced at her, openly pleased. She wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words. All she knew was that there was something buried within her that was awakening to him, and the more time they spent together, the more she touched him, the stronger that something grew.

“ _ We are like islands in the sea, separate on the surface but connected in the deep _ ,” he murmured.

“Who said that?” Emma asked.

“William James.”

Emma stroked his thumb with hers. “Lovely. And true.”

Their car slid into a space outside of Archer and they released their hands.

“Here we are.”

~~~~~

The small waiting area of Archer’s Equipment and Long-Term Storage was about the size of one of the small orange-doored units outside. It reeked of cigarettes, and if the yellow on the walls and counter were any indication, one or more of the employees had been smoking in here since 1980, the date of incorporation. A handful of two-year-old, beat-up magazines sat on the single table between olive green plastic chairs. 

Emma and Killian stepped up to the counter and she dinged the bell.

A large gentleman, who looked as though he had once been a muscle-bound bouncer but had since gone to pot, and who appeared to be the source of the grime — if the Marlboro hanging off his lip was an indication — grunted at them in greeting. Killian opted to let Emma use her feminine wiles to get what they needed out of this less-than-friendly apparition.

She leaned against the counter, looked him in the eyes, then looked down as if she were a bit shy, glancing back up at him under her lashes. 

“Oh, hi,” she said, a bit breathy and more high-pitched than her normal voice. “Just wondering if it isn’t any trouble, if you could help me with something?”

“You want to rent a unit?”

“No,” she said, blinking her lashes slowly.

He turned to go.

Killian was surprised at the complete lack of reaction to Emma. Even he was starting to feel a little hot under the collar and she hadn’t been directing her efforts at him. He had the briefest recollection of Emma’s first interaction with him and wondered how he’d have felt about her had she immediately come onto him the way that she was with this guy. 

She cleared her throat, wiles obviously not doing the trick, “Excuse me. I don’t think I made myself clear. We need to ask you to pull a record for us.”

“Put in a request with management. 7-10 days.”

Killian touched her elbow, asking with his eyes if he could give it a go. She nodded.

“Now, look here,” he glanced at the man’s name tag, “Bub. You’ll be going back to pull us a record because as I’ve been standing here I’ve noticed that your establishment is breaking Health Code Rule 7-10a and 54-1b. You’re also in violation of fire codes with that damaged fire extinguisher. And OSHA-”

“Who the fuck  _ are  _ you?” 

_ Who the fuck was he?!  _ Killian looked at Emma, incredulous, before kicking his voice up a notch, “The bloody fucking mayor of this town. So you best hurry.”

“Killian Jones? Alright. All-fucking-right. Whaddya need?”

“We’ll need the original contract relating to this form here.” He slid the paper in question across the counter.

Bub looked at the date, the price, and the name, grabbed it and took it into the back room.

“Wow, Killian,” Emma said quietly. “You have an incredible memory for health codes.”

“I had no bloody clue what I was talking about,” he murmured. “My only hope was that he didn’t either.”

After a good fifteen minutes, during which neither Emma nor Killian perused the May 2014 issue of Sports Illustrated or the People magazine announcing Brad and Jen had split, the man came back holding a couple forms in duplicate.

“Here you go. I’ll have to take those back when you’re done though.”

“Sure,” Killian said and reached out to take the papers. He took a look at the first contract, and flipped quickly through the pages. It was taken out in 2004 with an initial credit card payment from “Joe Johnson.” Fake name if he’d ever heard one. The second contract from 2006 was when the money started to flow directly from the Town of Storybrooke. It was signed by Sidney.

He went back to look at the signature on the first contract with the bogus credit card. Was it Sidney’s as well? No. The signature was entirely illegible. He did a double take. His breath caught in his throat. It was not legible to anyone else, but it was wholly recognizable to Killian. He’d seen his brother sign forms that way throughout their childhood to forge a “legal guardian’s signature” when needs be. A sharp pang hit his gut like a punch and he recoiled away, breathing heavy. Why was Liam’s handwriting on this paper? It didn’t make sense. 

“What is it?” Emma asked.

Killian glanced at the man working behind the desk. There was something happening here that Killian didn’t understand, but that made him feel an even greater need to be as discreet as possible.

“Nothing,” Killian said with a meaningful look.

Emma understood.

“Can we use your copy machine? I just need copies for town records.”

“Staff only.”

“Surely you can make an exception for me? Charge it to the town if you must.”

The man begrudgingly led Killian to the back. “Be right back, Emma.”

A Red Sox game was loudly in progress on the radio in the back. They were in the bottom of the eighth and the bases were loaded. One good hit away from tying it up with the Yankees. She was smiling when Killian returned to her. 

“Seeing as how this unit is being rented by the Town, which is technically me, can I get a set of keys to open the unit?”

“I would, but your man already has them.”

“Who? What man?”

“Sidney Glass. He’s from the mayor’s office, right? I wouldn’t remember, except he was just here last week. Pretty pissed when I wouldn’t give him all the copies of the contract.”

Killian sucked in a breath. Sidney was trying to hide this storage unit as recently as last week. Because of Emma’s digging. He was sure of it. Emma looked at him with wide eyes but said nothing. 

“Thank you,” he said to the clerk. “You’ve been helpful.”

Clearly happy they were leaving him so he could get back to his game, he simply grunted, “Yeah,” before turning away. The enormity of what he’d just provided to them was clearly lost on him.

When they were back in the car, headed towards the Seaside Inn and away from prying ears, Killian explained about Liam’s signature.

“Liam? This is starting to feel more dangerous than I thought, Killian.”

“I agree,” he said, brows furrowed.

“Let me get this straight. Sidney’s continuing to pay for a unit Liam rented, only now it’s with town money. Sidney’s signing requests for police reports that have been wiped from existence. Regina’s sneaking around looking for dirt on you. Her boyfriend disappeared long ago. Gold fits into all of this somehow. And ... ” she huffed. “you secretly own a ship. Killian, why do you secretly own a ship?”

Her rapid shift in topic threw him. He looked at her and the little wrinkle of concern between her eyes. Of course he was going to tell her everything. At this point, he was finding there was nothing he wouldn’t confess to keep her from ever looking at him like that.

He pulled into a busy hardware store parking lot and came to a stop. Unbuckled so he could turn to face her. She needed to see it in his eyes. The truth.

“I’m a millionaire, Emma.” 

She nodded. “That is obvious.”

“The reason nobody knows is because we are in bloody Storybrooke. This isn’t a town that values pretension. To everyone here, I’m the man who takes school groups on a boat, perhaps puts on a costume, and used to work down at the docks. I worked at local charities. A man like that is someone that people want to vote for. They think ‘there’s a man who’s like me’ and ‘maybe he’ll understand what this town needs.’ Imagine what they would think if they knew about the money?”

“I get that part. I do. But where did the money _ come  _ from?”

“It’s so complicated. I don’t even know where to begin,” he said. He glanced up and away, gathering his thoughts. The best place to start was the beginning, as the saying went. 

“Liam always wanted the best for me, you see? Ever since we were children. Encouraged me to make something of myself. When he got his first job restoring tall ships for a wealthy investor named Charles Wiltshire, back when I was just shy of a teen, he told me he was changing our lives. He made me promise to make him proud. And so I did. I threw everything I had into school. For him. And for both of our sakes, Liam threw himself into the work. People loved him. They taught him everything there was to know about boats, about sailing. A few years in, Wiltshire pitched an idea to Liam to break into the US market with tall ship touring. We were to sail the Jolly Roger here. He had found a port for her in Storybrooke. Liam was thrilled that he could make a new life for us here, away from everything that reminded us of our past.”

“What an incredible adventure that must have been,” Emma said. “Sailing with him to start a new life?”

“Indeed. Although the money wasn’t there right away. We struggled quite a bit on the meager income we made on the Jolly Roger. In fact, when I got into Dartmouth a year after I arrived here, I had to defer so I could save enough to attend. A year later — this would be ‘99 — I was just about to give up on college, when Liam showed up with enough money to get me through the first year. Turns out he’d been making investments. I was so inspired, I took my undergrad in economics. Summers, I came back and worked on the Jolly Roger.”

“When you graduated, you became a businessman, then? Here in Storybrooke?”

“Of sorts. Like Liam — you see, I always wanted to be like Liam — I toyed with investments, while continuing to work at the shipyard. I was rather good at it. So Liam encouraged me to get my MBA and to take a high powered job somewhere else. He wanted me to find my own path. I went back to Dartmouth, to Tuck.”

Emma smiled, “Quite the impressive brain you’ve got on you.”

Killian winked, “That’s not the only part of me that’s impressive.”

She rolled her eyes.

His smile faded. “This is where the story gets hard, you see. Emma. Because the summer before I left for my internship with Goldman, Liam…”

Emma reached out and touched his arm. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”

“It very nearly broke me. I was prepared to put off the internship and stay here indefinitely. Then I found out there was a life insurance policy left to me by Liam, and I was the sole beneficiary. I took it as a sign. Liam from the great beyond saying, ‘Make something of yourself.’ And so I did. I went to New York, interned at Goldman,” he paused and looked at Emma. “I met someone. It filled the void. I brought her here to show her Storybrooke. I had intended to make an offer of marriage.”

“What happened?”

He shrugged. “I’ll never know. Milah — she left me the first day I brought her home. Left me with just a letter. She said that she didn’t want me anymore. What did I have left? Only memories of Liam. Memories of her. So, I clung to the only happiness I knew in the world. The Jolly Roger.”

Killian looked down, the emotion barely contained. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to go on. But when he looked up, Emma’s eyes were wet and she was reaching out her hand to his. And just as it had before, the touch of her hand, that little thing she did with her thumb — brushing lightly across his hand, soothing — settled him. 

“So I went back to work at the shipyard and on the Jolly Roger. The longer I captained, the more I grew frustrated. Some bloody royal across the sea who didn’t give two whigs about her owns her. So that became my new goal.”

“To buy the ship.”

“Aye. So, I dabbled in stocks.” He chuckled. “I suppose that’s a bit of an understatement. Every free minute I had was spent researching and investing. The year I chose to weigh heavily towards small caps, they hit big. I cashed out a significant sum.”

He looked at her and she nodded. She understood  _ how  _ significant. Then she said, thoughtfully, “And you put it into the trust and bought the ship. It’s in the trust because of what you said before. You didn’t want anyone to see you differently.”

“Nor did I feel they were entitled to know what it was that ship meant to me.” He corrected, “to Liam and me.”

“And you ran for mayor, because?”

He scratched behind his ear with his free hand, Liam’s voice in his mind. “Well, I’ve gone and made something of myself, aye?”

At this, he saw Emma tear up again. Witnessing the depth of her feelings for his story — for him — drove the pain back. For a long minute, she simply held onto him and searched his eyes. Her finger caressed him again gently and this time, he felt the bottom drop out.  _ Does she know the power she already has over me?  _ he wondered. She licked her bottom lip and said something softly. He blinked, desperately trying to think about something other than her mouth and the comfort he’d find if he lost himself there. Did he care if all these people were around? Would she?

“Killian?” Emma’s words cut through his haze.

“Huh?”

“I said, ‘I’m sorry.’”

“For what?”

She looked away, saying, “Leaving you last night.”

His heart thumped loudly in his chest. “I’m still here.”

“Yes.” She grinned and then looked around. “In fact, we’ve been sitting here for quite a while. Probably should head back.”

He turned the car engine back on, and pulled back out onto the road. For a little while, he remained silent, growing accustomed to the fact that he had opened up to her so wholly, and felt not the least bit of disquiet in having done so. He wasn’t ready to put words to what that meant. Just the knowing of it mattered. 

Emma broke the silence, “I don’t know if you’re still up for discussing what we found out today.”

“I am, despite feeling more concerned than I did at the outset of the day. Any ideas about what comes next? You’re the reporter, after all.”

“Here’s what I think we need to do. Sidney — he doesn’t know we’re working together, yet. You see if you can get him to talk. And Gold doesn’t know how much we already know. I still think he’s connected to all of this somehow. I thought I’d drop by his store. Have a conversation. See what comes of it.”

“That sounds like the best plan we have right now, Emma.”

Killian slid up to the curb to let Emma out. He was suddenly very aware of their parting. Time stretched as he considered her. Her lips curved in response to his gaze.

Casting a look around for prying eyes and finding none, he leaned towards her and gently drew his right hand up her neck. Gooseflesh raised on her arms as he stroked. It made him dizzy to think of what his touch did to her. And what that did to him in turn. He was so close that he could see the flecks of gold in her green eyes. 

Then he hesitated.

She lifted her finger to trace his jaw and his heart skipped. “What are you waiting for, Killian?”

“What about that one time only comment, love?”

“I’ve decided to change my default setting,” she said with a chuckle.

He looked at her perplexed. 

“Just kiss me already.”

Not one to disappoint, he touched his lips to hers lightly, the salt of sweat on her skin reminding him of the sea. He marveled that wanting her was much the same as what he felt for the roiling depths. There was an inexplicable pull to lose himself in that strength and beauty, and he had no desire to fight it. She tousled his hair and tilted her head to deepen the kiss, to taste him. Heart pounding, he skimmed his left hand up her body, the brief touch of his thumb along the side of her breast eliciting a husky  _ mmm  _ sound against his mouth.

He broke away and growled, “We had better stop there, Swan. One more minute and I’d be liable to let you have your way with me right here in the car.”

She chuckled. “Okay. Get a good night’s sleep tonight, Killian. I’ll call you after I stop by Gold’s tomorrow.”

“Be careful, Emma.”

“Always am. You, too.”

She left his car, files from his office in her arms, and glanced around as he had, scanning for onlookers before turning around and flashing a heart-stopping smile at him. Then she walked away, and his eyes were drawn to the set of her shoulders and the move of her hips. She was quite the woman.

He made sure she was in safely before pulling away, grinning like a schoolboy.

~~~~


	14. Chapter 14

Tuesday morning, Emma stood outside of “Mr. Gold Pawnbroker & Antiquities Dealer.” The sky seemed like it was on the verge of splitting wide open, like everything else that was happening in her investigation. Huge puffy white thunderheads topped dark blue-grey clouds. Tendrils of wind were starting to push back the heat.

She had already chosen to go with a don’t-fuck-with-me ensemble of black tank, tight grey pants, tall black boots, and tight ponytail. Looking at her reflection in the crammed windows edged with white trim, she felt it did the job. If she was already going to be uncomfortably warm, though, she sure wished she had her red leather jacket. She wistfully thought of it hanging in the closet back home in Brighton. It was her go-to armor for the most unpredictable interviews.

Packing those memories away, she entered the store to the jingle of a small bell affixed to the door of the shop.

She looked around. The large, open space was cool and dry, and a bit musty. There were glass cases full of estate jewelry and assorted collectibles on all sides. Lining the walls, hanging from the ceilings, and taking up floor space were endless household items, vintage signs and toys, aged instruments and weapons, as well as some newer lamps and silver sets.

Mr. Gold appeared in a doorway at the back, directly across the room from her, with a smirk on his face. What was with this guy and his smug looks? He was beginning to get under her skin. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how she felt so she just placidly smiled back.

“Miss Swan. What can I do to help you today?”

She walked towards him, holding out a recorder for him to see and turning it on. “Hello again, Mr. Gold. Wondering if you would mind my taking a few photos in here, or if I could ask you a few questions?”

He came around the counter to stand nearer, squinting at her. “Just a few photos and some quotes, hmmm? What will you be giving me in return?”

His tone of voice and question rankled, but she wasn’t yet ready to show him her offense. She just asked, as though confused, “Pardon me?” 

“What do I get for opening up my life to your readership?”

“Uh, free publicity? A moment to shine?” She smiled as best she could given the sneer on his face.

“I do rather well for myself without publicity, Emma Swan.” He considered her, and chuckled. “Quite the travel piece you’re writing. I’ve seen you talking with the sheriff and a local teacher. Even the mayor. You know where you haven’t been? The tourism office.” She racked her brain. Where had he been watching her and the mayor? Was it today? He had to have been at work all day. The diner? The bar?

Emma shook off her unease and began to stroll along the counter, looking at items in the cases, deciding on a different tack.

“Alright, you got me. As it turns out I have a different story running. Please just keep it to yourself. It’s to do with Killian Jones and his job as a mayor. Are you satisfied?”

His Cheshire smile and that chuckle were disarming. “Ahhh, there we go. That wasn’t so hard, was it, Emma Swan?”

The way he said her name sent a shiver down her spine.

“So, do you have anything you’d like to say?” She glanced at an old-fashioned rolodex card lying near the register.  _ Thomas Willard. _

“In fact I do.” He flipped over the card before she read any more information. “My son works at your paper, maybe you’ve heard his name: Neal Cassidy?”

Emma’s stomach lurched and she couldn’t prevent her jaw from dropping. She was trying to make sense of this. What? Why would Neal send her here without warning her? What was he trying to play at? Did Neal know anything about his father? Clearly his father knew about him.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Neal Cassidy. I take it you know him.”

“He’s my ... editor.”

“Well, now. Isn’t that interesting? My son, with whom I have a rather strained relationship, sends his underling to do an article about Storybrooke. He always was a coward.”

Despite all that Neal had said and done to her, that statement still made her angry on his behalf. She had been privy to the psychological trauma this man had caused in his son. How dare he deflect her questions in such a heinous way  _ and  _ demand quid pro quo.

“We’re getting away from the point,” Emma said, letting anger clip her words, “which is: Do you have any comment about the current administration?”

“None, so far as I can say. I try to keep my hand out of politics.”

She was seething. “Yes. Yes, well. That’s not what Sidney Glass said.” The lie came out without fore-thought.

Gold grasped his cane tightly and clenched his jaw. “What precisely did he say?”

“I suppose you’ll see when the article runs, Mr. Gold. Are you sure you have nothing to say on record, to make sure your side of the story is told?” 

“Only that small towns are full of people with very little to do and big imaginations. Whatever you have heard, I’d take it with a grain of salt. That’s all I care to say on  _ or  _ off the record.”

“Thanks for your time, Mr. Gold.” Emma slipped her recorder into her bag and strode towards the door, feeling safer every step she took away from him. The man was more intimidating than she had expected.

“Give my regards to Neal,” he said to her back.

~~~~

Killian waited in Sidney’s Glass’ office, with a word from the secretary that he’d be along shortly.

He glanced around the refined space. He had to admit, his curiosity was overwhelming. Every fiber of his being told him that the keys to that storage unit were somewhere in this room. He examined the place more carefully.  _ No, not in the file cabinet. _ He went to the wall and lifted the picture there. No hidden safe. There were no cameras mounted, like the one he saw in reception. Good; he didn’t want to be caught on camera doing whatever he was doing in here.

His eyes lit on the desk. He slid his hand along the underside and found a latch there. He pinched it and heard a click. He opened the top drawer. There were a few boxes of supplies, a phone, and a set of keys — not for a car or house — possibly a safe or ... storage unit door. He shut the drawer quickly when he heard voices outside the office, stood and stepped over to the nearby window, as though he’d been taking in the scenery.

After what sounded like an angry exchange, the door flew open and Sidney stepped in, his eyes quickly looking at his desk before making eye contact with Killian.

“Killian. What brings you here today? Why don’t you have a seat?”

Killian moved to sit in the chair right in front of Sidney’s desk. “Sidney. Long time, my friend. We’ve missed you on our last few excursions.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Obviously. I’ll be brief. I’m coming to you because I’ve crossed paths with this reporter — Emma Swan. The other night I tried to make her acquaintance and she appeared to enjoy my company. However, she abruptly left, dodged all my calls, and I have heard that now she’s looking into town finances.” All true.

“I heard as much. I would rather she dropped this story.”

“You may assume I feel much the same.”

“Why are you here?”

“I could really use your help if she comes to you.” Killian said, and then continued with intentional misdirection. “There’s a possibility she believes I give contracts to business owners who promise their support to me politically.” Sidney snorted. “I know — have you ever heard anything more preposterous?”

Sidney eased into his chair, apparently satisfied that Killian wasn’t going to put the screws to him. “I saw her down at the docks — specifically told her to let it lie. I don’t know what she’s hoping to find but I assure you she won’t find anything.”

Killian thought,  _ Because you’ve hid everything there is to find.  _ “Thanks for having my back.”

“Sure.”

“I do miss your company, Sidney. You only come to half the game nights. How do you fare?”

There was regret in his eyes. “I’ve been busy.”

“Or you’ve been avoiding us?” Killian offered. “Why is that?”

His eyes were on Killian, but were not focused on him. “No. It’s complicated. I wish I could make this reporter go away. For your sake. You’ve already been through so much.”

“She doesn’t appear to be leaving. I would swear I just saw her car outside of Gold’s shop. What could she possibly learn from him?” He watched avidly for a response to  _ that. _

A flash of concern showed on Sidney’s face before it went impassive.  _ Bingo _ , Killian thought, before Sidney said through gritted teeth, “She just won’t relent.”

“Aye.” No, she wouldn’t. One of the many things he liked about her. “The girl certainly has gumption.”

“Well, I really have work to do, Killian. It was ... nice to see you.” He started to flip up papers on his desk, read.

“Thanks for your time.” Killian stood up and walked out.

~~~~

As soon as he started his car, he called her. “Swan?” 

“Jones?” He could hear the smile in her voice.

“What did you discover?”

“What  _ didn’t  _ I discover. I don’t even know where to begin.” She huffed. “Gold wouldn’t talk without a little quid pro quo.”

“What kind of quid pro quo?” he growled. In all his years of knowing Gold he hadn’t taken him for a letch.

“Not that kind. No. More like, he didn’t like what I was offering to him for his information — a chance to tell his side of the story, publicity, fame, that sort of thing.”

“Sounds like him.”

Emma asked, “Do you know someone named Thomas Willard?”

“Yes. Big, older guy. Not the nicest fellow.”

“What does he do?”

“I think he does odd jobs. Handyman? He likes to hang out at the Dragon’s Lair. Not the greatest place, that.”

“Hmm. Okay. His name was on a rolodex card next on Gold’s counter. He tried to hide it from me.” Long pause. “Also, he’s my ex’s father.”

“Willard?!”

“No. Gold is Neal’s estranged father,” Emma explained.

“Neal being your ex?” He couldn’t believe he felt a twinge of jealousy at the mention of an ex. Why didn’t he know more about this man?

Emma sighed, then continued in an almost embarrassed tone, “Yeah. He’s my boss at the Globe.”

“Your boss? Hang on, now. You dated your boss?”

“He wasn’t my boss when we started dating three years ago.”

“Aye? Still, that had to be a difficult situation when it happened.”

Emma paused and he could tell she was weighing out what to say next. “He got the job a year after we started dating. We were on the same team. Same job title. And then he found out the editor job was going to be posted and just asked for it.”

“Surely you had objections,” Killian said, affronted at the mere thought that this ex of hers was so careless of her feelings.

“He didn’t tell me about it at first. And then, he just didn’t listen.”

“Wanker.”

She laughed. “Yeah. So, he’s the one who sent me here.”

“Bloody hell, Emma. You break up with him and he sends you here? To the town where a father he presumably is not on good terms with lives? And doesn’t tell you. There’s a nasty bit of revenge.”

She paused and Killian almost thought the call had been dropped. Then she continued, “I’d agree with you, but we were still together when he sent me. So, I can only guess he sent me because he didn’t want to see his father.”

“Hold up. You were still together when you arrived here?”

“Yes,” Emma said so quietly he could hardly hear her.

“And now you aren’t?” 

“No,” she said.

The realization swept over him, making him feel a bit heady with the implications. Emma had left her boyfriend of three years, sometime between when they had met and now. Sometime since he’d first held her hand in his, first kissed her soft lips, first touched her lithe body. Hope flared in him and he smiled — although she could not see it. Did he dare to believe she may have done this because of her feelings for him? Did he dare to hope that this might be something more for her as well? The unspoken hung between them for a long beat.

“Anyway. I won’t know why he sent me, until we talk again. It does no good speculating at this point. Did you make any headway?” She asked.

“I think I may have found the keys to the storage unit in Sidney’s office. I didn’t have enough time to be sure, and I didn’t want him to find them gone after I left. Seeing as I am mayor, however, the key belongs to me. If I should happen to borrow it for an evening, it wouldn’t technically be breaking the law.”

“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

“Swan, did you bring anything black with you?”

“Killian Jones, are you asking me out on a B&E date?”

“I suppose I am.”

“Well, in that case, pick me up at ten.”

~~~~


	15. Chapter 15

“So what’s the news?” Lily said into her car phone. “Goddammit. Will you watch where you’re going?!” There were a few more expletives and then she said, “Sorry Emma. I’m on Storrow. What’s going on? Have you been able to make any progress?”

Emma took a bracing breath. “Yeah. So. This Gold guy you looked into ... uhhh. He’s Neal’s father.”

“Get the fuck out of here!” She honked her horn.

“I will not. It’s true.”

“Damn. What’s your take on that?”

Emma grunted, “I have a lot of thoughts on that, Lily. None of them are particularly nice.” 

“Do I get to sock him one?”

“Only after me,” Emma laughed along with Lily. “At this point, my thinking is he was just avoiding his father.”

“Dick move.”

“Yeah,” Emma said, sighing. “I’m trying to put it out of my mind or I’ll just keep dwelling on how angry I am at him.”

“Okay then. Here’s something different to think about. My mom is in Ogunquit and was wondering if she could pop up and see you for lunch tomorrow?”

She thought of Mal and how long it had been since they last met up. Seeing her might make for a nice change of pace and a distraction for at least an hour.

“I mean. It’s fine, but this is getting to be quite the quagmire here. I don’t have a lot of time.”

“You know mom. Once she gets an idea in her head, you can’t stop her.”

“I do know your mom.” Emma thought about the uncompromising prosecutor. “Yeah. Okay. Have her text me .”

“Will do. So give me some good news. Tell me about Mr. Cinnamon. Where are you at with him? Condensed version because I’m almost there.”

“You can call him Killian now.”

“Okay. What’s up with Killian?”

She’d known him for a couple of weeks and already so much had happened; it was impossible to condense. The short version? The highlight? She was beginning to have feelings for him. She  _ already  _ had feelings for him. She wasn’t going to tempt fate and say that out loud.

“Right now he’s helping do some research for the story.” And a little burglary.

She laughed. “Fantastic. What kind of sexual spell do you have to put on a guy to get him to help you write an expose about his own administration?”

“I’m not doing anything! He’s just helpful. That’s all.”

“So you listened to my advice for once and are trusting him? How’s that going for you?”

“Yeah. I listened.” She still was not going to bite at the bid for more information. “Hey, what are you up to tomorrow? If I send you something in the morning, will you be able to look at it for me? That is, if there is something to send?”

“It’s going to be a light Wednesday. I’m sure Thursday will be the same. What are you sending? And don’t think I didn’t notice the deflection.”

Emma laughed. “Fine. I’m really not even sure what I’ll have — I’ll know later tonight.” 

“Okay.”

“Gotta run. There are so many balls in the air and not much time until my deadline. As it is, I’ve only got a shell of a story here and I’m going to have to spend the afternoon beefing it up.”

“Text me.”

“Later, Lily.”

~~~~

The lunchtime skies were full of clouds, but the storm still hadn’t broken. Emma was walking down Main Street, her mind on a million different things, when she heard a familiar voice from behind.

“Emma! Emma, hold up.”

Mary Margaret was jogging to catch up with her, clad in an adorable floral one-piece romper. She nudged Emma with her elbow.

“Hi! I’m sorry I haven’t texted.” She grinned. “I’ve been  _ busy. _ ” Her grin widened.

“No problem. David, am I right?”

“Yes!” She briefly clasped Emma’s arm in excitement. “We’ve been making up for lost time.”

“I can see. You’re glowing.”

“Thanks. He took me to this spot out by the ocean, where we could just be alone and we talked for hours and hours. And-” She winked.

“Wonderful news, Mary Margaret.” Emma started to think about the ocean and boats, and ... captains of boats.

“It truly is.”

“I feel kind of lucky, being here at the exact time you two finally came together.”

“It’s partly because of you that it happened, Emma.” 

“What?”

“Well if you hadn’t talked to David for your article, and if you hadn’t invited me along, I wouldn’t have been at the Rabbit Hole. Even though nothing happened that night, it gave us a chance to really talk and be near each other. I don’t think we’d done that for years. But after Saturday, both of us knew that there was something more and we couldn’t deny it anymore.”

Emma knew that, either intentionally or not, she had invited Mary Margaret along so that this very thing might happen. She had wanted to see her and David happy. 

Emma smiled, “It would have happened eventually anyway, but I’ll gladly take the credit.” 

“Either way, fate or not, that was a night to remember, wasn’t it?” She stopped and looked at Emma. “Wait. Did Killian take you home that night?”

“I don’t think I said he took me home, did I?”

Mary Margaret narrowed her eyes at Emma. “You left together. I saw.”

“Are you trying to ask me something?”

“I’m pretty sure you know what it is I’m saying,” Mary Margaret said. “But if I have to spell it out — Did anything happen with you two?”

With Mary Margaret’s eager expression aimed at her, Emma felt a horrible wave of guilt. She wanted to lie about Killian. To say that nothing had happened. To say that nothing  _ was  _ happening. When she knew damn well that was not the case. But, here was the deal: her cover story in Storybrooke was a colossal fabrication. She had lied to everyone there about her article and her research from day one, and yet where it mattered — Gold, Sidney, even Killian — they had not been fooled. Meantime, here was the most kind, honest woman in Storybrooke and she was still completely unaware of the subterfuge. 

So, Emma was going to move outside of her comfort zone and answer Mary Margaret honestly. At least about this one thing. She deserved that.

“If you have to think about it that long,” Mary Margaret said, laughing, “there’s _ obviously  _ something to tell.”

Emma took a look around. She didn’t need any errant rumors flying. “Yeah. We, uh, went to the Jolly Roger and you know, we did some things.”  _ Killian did some things _ , she thought.

Mary Margaret made a happy exclamation and hooked her arm through Emma’s. “Both of us have Jolly Roger stories now! Care to spill?”

“Oh boy. I don’t know,” Emma said. “Let’s just say, it was fun.”

“I’ll bet. You know how I feel about David, so you know that I don’t have designs on Killian. But I have to know. Is he a good kisser?”

Emma gasped dramatically, “Mary Margaret!”

“Sorry,” she said, not looking at all sorry.

“He has an excellent mouth. You have no idea.” 

Mary Margaret made a little squeal and said, “I knew it. Oh! I just had a thought. We can go on a double date now. Publicly.”

“Not sure we’re at the place where we can go public, yet,” Emma mused. 

“Why not? You looked pretty cozy at the Rabbit Hole.” She paused, and said, “And also at Granny’s for dinner the next night.”

“Word travels fast,” Emma said. She just knew that bit of gossip wouldn’t escape the locals. 

Mary Margaret released her and shrugged. “It is Storybrooke, Emma.”

“Yes, I’m starting to learn.”

There was a buzz in her purse and Emma pulled out her phone.

_ RM: Where is the story? _

She slipped it back into her bag. She was not dealing with Regina now. Let  _ Neal  _ deal with that.

“How about we grab a bite to eat?”

“Yes!” Mary Margaret chirped. 

They ambled down the street in no particular hurry, around the clumps of tourists and past Modern Fashions. As they passed the open door, the cheerful clerk who had helped her waved and called her name. Emma waved back. Damn if this town wasn’t starting to grow on her, she mused. What an odd turn of events. She had told everyone she was writing a story to get people to fall in love with Storybrooke and here she was, not writing  _ that  _ story, and  _ she  _ was falling in love with the place.

Ruby was inside of Modern Fashions, holding up a brightly colored shirt, and she turned to look at Emma.“Thanks for dry cleaning the dress, Emma. Glad it worked out for you.” 

Even from this distance Emma didn’t miss the twinkle in her eye. Neither did Mary Margaret, who grinned at Emma, and then asked Ruby, “We’re going to lunch. Want to join us?”

“Have to get back to work soon, Sorry. But I think Dorothy is at the bakery. Text her.”

As they walked away, Mary Margaret slid her fingers across her phone, making plans to meet up, and a sharp twinge squeezed her heart. This was all becoming too normal. Too familiar. What right did she have forming connections like this? Coils of something like panic began to grip her, and her chest started to feel tight.

But just as she was about to excuse herself to go back to the inn — to keep herself from getting hopelessly lost in the fairy tale — she heard Mary Margaret’s voice at her side.

“I’m really glad you’re here, Emma. It’s not every day friends walk into your life and fit like a glove, right?”

With those words, the panic slipped away, she took a deep breath and let Mary Margaret steer them towards their lunch. 

With friends.

~~~~


	16. Chapter 16

At exactly 10 p.m. Killian Jones pulled up outside of the Seaside Inn. Emma slipped out of the night and into the pool of light on the sidewalk, dressed in black leather pants and a long-sleeved black shirt she had picked out for the occasion. She thanked the stars that, after the late afternoon storm, the air was cooler, otherwise she’d be sweating like a pig in the tight outfit.

She opened the door and dropped into her seat.

“Wow.” Killian whispered in awe.

Emma smiled. “It’s just clothes.”

“You look ready to commit dark deeds.” His eyes were as lascivious as the sound of his voice.

Emma was seventy percent sure he was talking about their plans for the evening. Alright, forty percent. She turned and got a really good look at him then. Most of his face was in shadows, streetlights illuminating the V in his tight black button down shirt — heavy necklace partially concealed — tucked into black jeans. If she looked as he said, then there were no words that could fully describe the depravity that could be committed looking like  _ he _ did. She didn’t dare say what she was thinking out loud. Otherwise, she might very well find herself back on the Jolly Roger —  _ bound to the mast?  _ she thought, shivering with arousal — naked below the waist with his mouth on her again. 

“Alright, pirate,” she said, trying to pull out of the fantasy, “what’s the plan?”

He glanced over at her, chest rising and falling heavily, “First, you tell me what you’re thinking. Even in the dark I could see your shiver. And your voice is-”

“I guess just get used to disappointment,” she said wickedly.

“Any moment my hands aren’t on you is a disappointment, love.”

She was having trouble breathing, with every ounce of his vibrating sexual energy directed at her. She looked at his chest and back to his eyes and tried to focus. There was something they were supposed to be doing, right? What were they in the car for again? 

She managed to whisper, “You want to- Are we going to Glass’ building, or?”

“Bloody hell, Emma,” he scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Right. Aye. Going to the building. And then afterwards, I’m most definitely putting my hands on you.”

Her breathing still wasn’t quite right but she managed to say, “Sounds like a plan.”

Then, grinning like he had just won the lottery, he pulled away from the curb.

Turns out Killian was a pro at committing larceny. He had thought of everything. When he was at Glass’ office earlier, he had taken the time to unlatch a window, locate all the cameras, and discover the breaker box for the building.

Upon arrival at the building, Killian took out two black ball caps. He put his on and reached across to put hers on as well, tucking her ponytail up inside, before saying, “That hair. It’s like a beacon. Stay here.”

Then he took his leave of her, becoming a part of the night as soon as he stepped out. Within ten minutes, all the external lights blinked off. She sat in the dark, waiting.

His face was suddenly next to her window and she jumped..

“Sorry, love,” he whispered to her as she got out. He handed her some gloves to slip on. “Let’s go.”

She took a moment to adjust to the darkness. He waited with her, alert to the sounds of the deserted lot and surrounding woods. A chill of nervous excitement went down her spine as she stood next to him. In absolute silence, barring the crickets and tree frogs, he took her by the hand and led her towards the building. 

They slipped in through the first-floor window to Glass’ office.

Killian pointed with his flashlight to the far wall, waiting for her to move into place. She put her ear to the office door, ready to alert him if someone from the building remained. Then he bee-lined for the desk and she heard a  _ snick _ , and the rolling of a drawer. She saw his silhouette outlined over a sleek modern desk. Some clinking sounds, then the drawer shut. 

“Let’s go,” he whispered.

Both of them were back out and the window was shut in just under five minutes.

“Head to the car, I’ll be right back,” Killian said, darting away from her.

She jogged back to the car and let herself in.

Emma saw the building lights snap back on from the passenger seat, and Killian scurried through the darkness of the forest’s edge to their parked car. He had made sure the whole time to keep them out of the watchful eye of outside-facing cameras. She was impressed. She wished she could tell him what a turn-on it was to watch him so deftly and flawlessly pull off this little heist, particularly dressed as he was, but she hesitated. She worried saying that would somehow dredge up unwanted feelings about his past. So, she let it go. 

“Here we are.” He jingled the keys and dropped them into her hand, then revved the engine and drove away with his headlights still off. “Now, let’s just see what’s in the storage unit, shall we?”

“Now?”

“I want to get these things back to that desk as soon as possible.”

“But the storage facility has got to be closed.”

“Lucky for us they have 24-hour access at the gate if you have a key.”

“How’d you know that?”

“Website, love.”

She laughed, “Sorry. Of course.”

Archer’s was not far from where they were, so the drive was short. Parking in front of the gate, they both got out and scanned the entrance. Emma saw the blinking light of a security cam. Killian followed her gaze.

“There’s nothing illegal about visiting your own storage unit,” he said.

“I’m more worried about Sidney finding out we were here.”

He turned to her. “If we do this right, we’ll have all we need before he wakes. Even if he discovers what we’ve done somehow, he’s in an impossible situation. Confronting us would mean laying out his cards on the table and admitting to whatever it is he’s up to. He won’t do that.”

Emma nodded. “That’s true.”

Killian unlocked the gate and looked back at her. “Now or never.” The metal-barred door swung open.

He held out his hand for Emma to take. Whether it was to reassure her or him she wasn’t sure, but she was happy for the contact.

They began their long search for unit 157 among the rows of garage-doored structures. At last they found it — used the key again — and rolled up the door. In the darkness, everything was louder than Emma was comfortable with, but there was nothing to be done about it. Shining a light into the space, they found two file boxes in the center. 

Killian lifted one of the lids and they both peered inside to look. It was filled with leather-bound ledger books. Checking out the other one, they found it to be full of ledgers as well. Emma and Killian looked at each other, confused.

“I think we should take this and get going, eh?” Killian said softly.

“Yeah.” Emma felt a nervous flutter in her stomach. “Is this all there is?”

He shined the beam around the room one more time. Entirely empty.

“It seems it is,” he said. He hefted one of the boxes and turned to go.

“Weird. Don’t know what I expected but it wasn’t this,” She said, taking the other one and following. She looked back at the pitch one more time.

“I concur,” he said, and then nudged her elbow with his. “Come on.”

Once they were outside, he sat the box down, closed and locked the door, and picked it back up to leave.

They rode back in silence, the gravity of the situation sinking in. The waltz down memory lane of burglary and late-night break-ins no longer felt as exciting knowing that their cargo could contain information that might change their lives. Perhaps for the worse.

They were passing the quaint colonial homes of Mariner’s Ave. “Where are we headed?”

“I kind of thought — if it is alright with you, Emma — we go to my place.”

Emma paused. “To look at the boxes?”

“Aye.”

“It’s almost midnight, Killian.”

“We’ve come this far. I don’t see the point of turning back at this point,” he said, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure if he was talking about the article or about them.

“Then, I guess it’s now or never,” she said, in answer to both possibilities.

Killian glanced over at her, clearly pleased, and smiling that half-cocked grin that made her stomach flip. “To my place, then.”

~~~~


	17. Chapter 17

When Killian pulled into the driveway of the white, stately mansion, Emma’s heart lodged in her larynx. She had seen the building before. But now she was going inside the impressive estate. With a man who currently looked like a high brow cat burglar. And whose face was more serious than she had ever seen. 

They grabbed the boxes and he let them into the foyer. It  _ was  _ magnificent.

“Why don’t we go there,” he inclined his head towards the room off the entrance hall. Inside, a gorgeous brick fireplace was a backdrop to a quintessential New England study. Rich with wood, loads of books and leather chairs, it looked like something out of a fancy home magazine.

They sat the boxes down on the table between them.

“No time like the present,” Killian quipped.

They opened the first box and began the process of deciphering the contents. It wasn’t going to be easy. Everything in each of the ledgers was written in a sort of code.

“Is this in Liam’s hand?” Emma wondered.

He’d just cracked open his first book. “No. I don’t recognize this.”

“Hmm,” Emma said. “Okay.”

Settling into soft chairs, they started to scan each and every page of the ledgers. It was slow work, and for the first hour Emma just flipped through page after page, trying to make sense of the layout and nomenclature. It looked to her like there was some sort of product being acquired and then sold, with value in and value out. 

Finally she spoke, “Okay. I’ve been through two of these and I don’t understand any of this. Looks to me like an accounting of sales. What do you have?”

“These look like ports: USNYC, USBOS -ahhh- PRBQN? I don’t recall. Puerto Rico, I’m thinking. These are obviously some sort of shipping manifests. I don’t remember Liam ever being involved in shipping merchandise though.”

“Okay,” she said. “What about Sidney?”

“No,” he said, yawning. “He wasn’t.”

Now, she yawned too. “If we’re going to be at this for a while, I’d love to get some coffee. How do you take yours?”

“You don’t have to-”

“Don’t be silly. It’s no trouble.”

“Black,” he said, albeit needlessly. Every detail of the first time she met him over breakfast at Granny’s was seared into her memory.

“I know.”

Killian’s eyes met hers, a pleased grin on his face. “Kitchen’s across the foyer and down,” he said.

“Gotcha.”

She quickly found her way around the kitchen, got a pot of coffee brewing, and rummaged for a couple mugs. She leaned back on the marble counter and looked around. The place was spotless and beautiful. Richly painted paneled cabinets and top of the line appliances. And yet, in spite of the cold stone and hard wood, this room, like the other, exuded the warmth and good nature of its primary resident. 

He had beautiful oil paintings of ships, the ocean, and little fishing villages full of color. A couple of - she was impressed - very healthy plants were in his window. On his bulletin board were a number of vibrant crayon artworks, of what she believed was Killian, the Jolly Roger, and some other less discernible subjects. Where had he even gotten those? And the most hilarious of all were the two ridiculous mugs in the sink: “I like big boats and I cannot lie,” and “#1 Mayor”. She nearly laughed out loud, and knew without asking that David had bought him those. 

So, Killian was the kind of guy who collected things with sentimental value. This wasn’t the barren bachelor pad she might have expected before she really knew him. Odd that only weeks ago, she had him pegged as the stereotypical playboy who formed no lasting connections and charmed whatever he wanted out of people without regret. She had chalked up her immediate attraction as an involuntary response to being targeted by him for something he needed. He wanted her to drop her investigation, she had thought. That was it. But now she stood in his space, feeling utterly thrilled to have been wrong. He was a man entirely without pretense. His love of everything to do with sailing, of his constituents and of his friends was laid out before her in all these tokens he had displayed. 

The affection that the people in this town felt for him was entirely deserved. 

She felt affection, in return, for them: Mary Margaret and David, Ruby and Dorothy, and all of the rest of the gossipy, quirky, and beautiful people. She was trying and failing to remind herself that in a matter of only days, she might be gone and everything here would necessarily have to become nothing more than a series of memories.

She shook her head and kept to the task, turning around to pour two mugs of coffee. Emma felt him before she saw him.

“You didn’t have to come,” she said, back still to the room. “I’ve got your cup right here.”

She was startled when his answer came soft and low, right behind her. “Aye. But, there was something more compelling than a bunch of dusty old books rattling around in my galley.” 

He reached around her body, and gently took his cup from her hand with a whispered, “Thanks,” then backed away. 

Turning to face him, she attempted to keep her breathing level. He was leaning against the island, staring at her with intent. “Did you find anything else?”

“No. And, after a couple of hours of this, and a dozen more ledgers to go, I’m not sure we will find anything else without some help.”

Emma sipped her coffee and thought. “You know, my friend Lily has done all kinds of accounting. This sort of looks like that on some level. Would you mind if I took one of these to scan and send the images to her?”

“She’s the one you’ve told me about?” 

“Yeah, her. The best part about Lily is that she’s brilliant _ and  _ she is as discreet as they come.”

“I am happy to have her look at them,” he said. When he raised his cup to drink this time, his eyes stayed on her, slow and measuring.

She met his gaze and smiled. Sat her coffee down. “So. I’ll go get the book, then?” she asked, starting towards the door. 

He caught her by the arm as she passed him, “The book can wait, Emma.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Bloody sure.”

“We just had all that coffee Killian,” Emma said, grinning, as he tugged her towards him. “Now, we’re going to be up for hours, with nothing to do.” 

“I’m sure we can find something.”

Emma blinked twice, then pulled his mouth down to hers. Killian made a soft noise of wonder before he was swept into her pull. It was with his hands in her hair and his arm wrapped around her back, that her twisted tangle of emotions unwound, and settled into something solid and certain. She smiled against his lips and he pulled back to look at her, a curve at the corner of his mouth as well.

He inclined his head towards the stairs. She nodded an affirmation.

They had ascended halfway before he pulled her to him again and kissed her. Emma wanted nothing less than to lose herself in him. Her mouth drifted away from his so that she could focus on unbuttoning his shirt. Ever since he had deprived her of the opportunity to touch him that night on the Jolly Roger, she had harbored a desire to get her hands back on his body. Her fingers fumbled when he dragged his tongue across her neck, but she was not to be distracted. 

She smoothed her palms up his chest, thumbing his nipples, and was rewarded with the sound of his breath sucking through his teeth. Just as she thought. The way his brow pinched and the sounds he made when it was her hands giving him pleasure, was tantalizing. When she leaned over to draw the hardened nubs into her mouth, dragging her own teeth around them, he gave a sharp  _ Ah!  _ and tried to tug her to him, but she slipped out of his grip with a devious grin. 

_ How was it that being with him made her lose all sense of propriety?  _ she wondered as she sauntered up the stairs, heady with fiendish intent. She wanted to make him feel as out of control as she did. Wanted to see it in his eyes. Every few steps, she removed and draped an article of clothing carefully across the bannister, growing slick with desire under his wanton gaze. She took care to let her fingertips brush across the places she hoped he would touch her as she stripped, closing her eyes each time she did — imagining how his hands would feel on her. The tip of his tongue moved slowly across his teeth, and he cursed softly once or twice, but he made no move until the final scrap of clothing was gone and she leaned against the railing at the top, beckoning with her finger.

He approached her with all the grace and power of a predatory cat. Yes, he was unbuckling his belt and sliding it out, unzipping his pants and letting them fall, but his eyes were always hungry on hers, while his chest rose and fell heavily. Finally in front of her, clad only in his boxer briefs, he ran the back of his hand down her from neck to navel. “The things I want to do with you Emma Swan,” he said, voice thick.

Then he swept her into him.

Emma took a few moments to revel in the feel of his skin against hers: the smooth of his back, the warmth of his arms around her, and the hardness of his length brushing against her every time their kiss shifted. Killian walked them back a few feet to the wall — locking her hands in his above her head — and worked his way down her bare neckline and chest. Her body was fizzing with what his mouth was doing to her, her breath a staccato.

“Your skin is so soft right here,” he said from the hollow above her collar bone. “Why do you always smell so amazing?”

She said a silent prayer of thanks for her vanilla birthday cake body wash, right before he took her earlobe in his teeth.

“Oh!” She gasped and grabbed his ass with both hands in response, making him groan loudly.

“Those are the kind of noises I like to hear, Mr. Jones,” she said, lowering to her knees. “Wondering what you might sound like if I...”

Her hands moved to his waist, index fingers tracing a line along the front of his boxer-briefs. She tilted her head to gauge his reaction.

“Emma, I’m not sure I will be able to hold out.”

“Yes, you will,” she said with a wicked gleam. And she slid the fabric down. Up close, she was a little shocked at precisely how big he was, and couldn’t help the gasp that escaped. She heard a low rumbling chuckle that let her know he had definitely heard her. 

More than ever she needed to feel him. She grasped his shaft and slid up, flicking across the tip with her thumb. Then, down again. Slowly up and then down again. Then she fell into a rhythm. His knees buckled and he braced himself on the wall.

“Christ! Emma.”

She smiled as she looked up at him one more time — relishing the pleading expression on his face — before she lowered her mouth to him. There was an inventiveness to the curses that followed that Emma attributed to his being both a sailor and British. She kept going until she knew he could bear no more and quickly backed off.

“Bed?”

“Aye,” he said through clenched teeth.

They were in his room, in his beautiful antique wooden bed, and he was putting on a condom within moments.

Then he was on her, mouth on her chest and hand between her legs. She was already so wet, his nimble fingers slid easily across and into her.  _ The man is truly gifted _ , she thought through the fog of lust. And for a time she simply lost herself in the warm slide of his body along hers, as he deftly brought her pleasure with his fingers. But the constant press of his hardness against her body became ever more frustrating, and her need rapidly shifted. 

“Fuck Killian. I need you in me.”

He paused in his work to look at her, humor in his eyes, “I’m sorry, love. I’m not sure I caught what you said?”

She reached out and fully grasped him in her hand, squeezing tightly enough so that his eyes closed and he moaned. “This. Hard inside of me. Now.”

Killian was more than willing to oblige. He slipped a pillow beneath her, then dragged the tip of his rock-hard length across her opening before slowly sliding inside, letting her adjust to his size.  _ Damn. Damn. God Damn,  _ she thought as he pushed into already throbbing flesh. After a couple of slow pumps, and with a wicked gleam in his eyes, he thrust harder and fully seated himself in her.

“Oh God, Killian!” she shouted, and she heard his corresponding, “Fuck, Emma.” 

Clutching his ass, holding him inside for a moment, just to feel the delicious pressure, she looked at him. Incredibly blue eyes — pupils dilated — locked on hers, and then he thrust again, firmly. And again, harder. Then he picked up the pace. She arched back and grabbed his headboard for purchase, eyes closed, trying to hold out and hold on to the way he filled her so completely — at the point where his body entered hers, at the places where his mouth left her flesh wet and quivering, and in her heart where every word he spoke, every glance he gave seemed to fuel her need even more. 

Killian’s hands were on her breasts now, flicking and pinching, and the combination of the exquisite sensations she felt everywhere made her feel transcendently sated. Never before had anyone instinctively known how to find her weaknesses, draw out her pleasure, and make her toes curl with each touch and each motion. Not like this.

“Emma, look at me.”

She blinked open her eyes and met his gaze. He slowed for a moment, swiped away the dampened hairs on her forehead, and kissed the tip of her nose. That incredibly tender gesture undid her. So when he thrust once more, twice, and cried out, she joined him in the fall. 

After he’d tossed the condom, he returned to her — all softness and languor — stroking back the damp locks from her face again and murmuring endearments. What a man of beautiful contradictions he was, she thought, for a moment. She smiled weakly, too worn out to bother going to the bathroom to clean up. Her last coherent memory was of him pulling her back to him, enfolding her in his arms, and burrowing into her hair, before sleep pulled her under.

~~~~


	18. Chapter 18

The sound of a phone vibrating roused Killian from a deep sleep. He groaned and rolled away from Emma to crack the shade.

“What time is it?” Emma muttered, trying to sit up and discovering all the places she was sore, in all the best kinds of ways.

“I don’t know,” he said pointing to a dark object on the floor. “ _ Somebody _ took a hit out on my alarm clock this morning. I’m ninety percent sure it wasn’t me.”

“Oh, yeah. I think it went off at six? Sorry.”

He found his phone and glanced at it. “Bollocks! It’s nine.”

Emma bolted upright. “Damn!” She tumbled out of bed, naked, and flung open a closet door, slammed it, then opened his bathroom door with a triumphant “There you are!” before rushing inside and turning on the shower.

“Towels are-”

“I found them. Sorry.” She peeked around the door. “Where’re my clothes?”

He made a vague waving motion with his hand. “All over really. I’ll gather them and bring them in.”

“Thanks,” she nodded to the shower. “So, last night was great and it’s not like I don’t want to talk or whatever, but my sort-of-surrogate mom is coming for lunch. Mal. I don’t know if I mentioned her? She’s kind of a stickler for promptness. My phone is downstairs and I am guessing there are already twenty messages from her.”

“I understand. Just as you should understand how hard it is for me to not ravish you in the shower. However, I am also going to be unforgivably late to my first appointment, so it’s to the guest bath for me.”

A half hour later, they were clothed and he was sliding up to the curb to let her out at the inn.

“Oh, we’re here already?”

Killian smiled softly at her. “Afraid so, love.”

“So, I’ll send the copies of the ledgers to Lily and see what she thinks. God. Regina’s going to flip if I don’t produce something soon.”

“Everything makes her flip. Don’t worry. Meantime, I'm going to sneak the keys back into Sidney’s desk on my lunch break. Should be easy enough. Then I’m heading to work.” 

She examined the windows of the inn and the surrounding homes before leaning over to run her fingers through his hair and kiss him thoroughly. “Thanks for an amazing night.”

“Was there ever any doubt it would be?” His lips curled into a wry grin.

Emma rolled her eyes and shut the door. He waited until she was safely in the building before pulling away.

~~~~

“I’m sorry Mayor Jones, he’s not in yet. He isn’t answering his calls. I don’t know what to tell you.” Sidney’s secretary, Alicia Mathis, seemed more than a little stressed.

“Mind if I wait here?”

“Not at all. Although I can’t promise he’ll be in. It’s already after 11.”

“That’s fine.”

Alicia offered Killian some coffee and he accepted, asking for cream and sugar — which he never took — to buy some extra time. He had “accidentally” unplugged the camera and was in and out of Sidney’s office, keys redeposited, by the time she came back from the mini-kitchen.

She arrived as he was plugging the camera back in. Alicia looked at him suspiciously.

“Sorry, I accidentally knocked the table into this cord here.”

That seemed to satisfy her. “Here’s your coffee.”

“Thanks.”

Killian sipped the coffee for a while. He perused last month’s  _ Field & Stream  _ and made a show of looking at his watch every now and then. He noticed the concern on her face as she fielded calls, struggling to respond to the particulars of Sidney’s return to the office. “Look, I have an appointment I have to get to. But if you see him, give me a call?”

“Yes, Mr. Mayor. Sorry.” Her brows furrowed and she shook her head. “He’s not the type to be late. I wish I could tell you I knew when he’d be back. Give me a call later and I can schedule some time with him.”

“Will do, Ms. Mathis.” Killian said.

He had a feeling Sidney wasn’t going to be back in the office for quite some time.

~~~~~

Donning a fresh outfit that was less cat burglar and more upstanding journalist, Emma slid into her beat up yellow bug, free-lobby-coffee in hand. Her emailed pdfs of the storage facility files were somewhere in cyberspace, hopefully soon to be read by Lily, and Emma was in the midst of checking her phone, when she got the text:  _ 11:47 a.m.  _ It was just like Mal to avoid small talk and to be so ridiculously precise with her arrival time. Emma looked at the time. It was already 11:10.

Another message dinged. She picked her phone back up to see what else Mal had to say, but that conversation didn’t have any new messages. She clicked out of it and her stomach clenched when she saw a new message from “NC.” Neal.

_ NC: Emma. Sorry about the other night. Wondering where you are w the story? _

Emma sat there in the driver’s seat, staring at the words.  _ What the actual fuck?!  _ Just a quick apology and onto work? As if it was just another ho-hum text.  _ Hey honey, sorry I lost my shit and called you a slut, can you bring home some milk from the store?  _ That didn’t even begin to cover how shitty it was that he jettisoned her up in Maine without a word that Gold was his father.

_ ES: Sorry for the things you said to me? Or the things you haven’t told me?  _

There was a long pause. She saw the dots blinking. Then her phone rang.

“What are you talking about?” Neal asked, without preamble.

“I think you know what I’m talking about,” Emma said, barely controlling her anger.

He sighed. “I know. I should have told you, but it was hard to know how to say it. Or what to say.”

“I’m thinking, ‘Emma, I’ll be sending you into the town where my dad lives to do this story and he’s super fucking shady.’ Or something to that effect. Would have been nice. To not go in blind.”

“I didn’t intend to upset you. You’d have to know my father. He'd have seen right through you if you knew who he was going in. He has a way of finding out things.”

“Are you saying you didn’t trust me to not blow my cover?”

“I wasn’t sure.”

“Well, it didn’t matter anyway. He never believed my cover story. And I was  _ good. _ Do you understand what that means? It means there is a very real possibility he’s part of whatever is happening here.”

“Yes,” Neal said, resigned. “I don’t doubt it. That’s why I left him. I knew he was up to no good. I’d already seen him swindle people out of their life savings over deals he made with them. There had to be something bigger he was into. Couldn’t prove it. Just knew it in my gut. I worried that when I was of age, he’d try to rope me into whatever it was he was doing. So, when I was eighteen, I spent an entire year changing my identity, destroying every scrap of information that could lead him to me. Just so I could dictate the path of my own life.”

“Well, he found you,” Emma said. “Mid-interview he dropped that information like a bomb.”

Neal sighed. “The man is smart. He can uncover anything. I assume he found out about me by looking into you.”

“What now?” Emma asked. 

“Our relationship or the story?”

As if he had to ask. “The story. I don’t even have the energy or will to discuss our breakup.”

“Fine,” he exhaled. “I deserve that. Finish the story, Emma. Take another week if need be. I can help, if you require it. Doesn’t seem to make a difference now that you know.”

Emma gave that some thought. She was still so livid with him that it consumed a bigger chunk of her waking thoughts than she would have liked. He had said incredibly hurtful things. Sent her into a story without telling her about his father. It would be hard to get past all of that and work together like they always did. 

“Thank you but, no, Neal.”

“So this is it?”

“I assume you are asking about the story? No, it’s not done.  _ I’m _ not done, but I’m closing in on the truth. You’ll get it when I do. And I’ll take that week, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Alright.”

“I have to go. Mal is meeting me for lunch in ten minutes. I can’t be late.”

“Bye, Emma,” he said quietly.

“Yep,” she hung up, feeling bizarrely content. That conversation had given her necessary closure, while letting Neal know that the end of them didn’t mean the end of her career. He would not take that away from her. Not when she was so good at what she did. Not when there was still so much more to do for her current investigation.

For now, however, she had an entirely personal lunch appointment. She looked at the time, cursed, and hit the gas.

~~~~

From the vestibule of the upscale bistro, Emma scanned the tables for Mal. Hard to miss the tall blonde with impeccable hair and crisp sleeveless shirt, string tie through the collar. She smiled and strode over to her table.

“Emma! So nice to see you. Right on time.” She stood up and gave Emma a light pat-hug — she showed her affection in much less ... hugging ... ways.

Emma had to work to slow her breathing. She was on time because she had sprinted three blocks from her God awful parking space. “Mal! I can’t believe you’re here. You didn’t have to go out of your way or anything.”

“I wasn’t terribly far away, and I haven’t seen you in ages, dear. What’s that on your neck?”

Emma’s cheeks started to pink.  _ What was what on my neck? Shit! _

Mal reached across the table and wiped at Emma’s neck with her thumb. “Hmm. A bit of dirt.”

“Oh,” she tried to sound as nonchalant as possible. “Thanks.”

Mal lifted her eyebrow quizzically, then perused the menu. “Lily says you’ve been talking with her about your article.”

“Yes. She has been really helpful. I’m so glad she’s so gifted with numbers.”

Pride twinkled in Mal’s eyes. “She is. Can you tell me about this story?”

Glancing at the nearby tables, Emma felt it was too risky. “I wish I could tell you more but-”

“I would love to hear more as well.” A sharp voice came from behind Mal. Regina sidled up to the table. “You sure are a hard one to find, Emma. Must be luck that we’re both down here for the afternoon.”

Mal’s eyes widened ever so slightly at the sight of the curt brunette, in her expertly cut blue dress, before she said, “Excuse me, but who are you?”

Regina turned and finally noticed Emma’s lunch companion. Her expression softened and she held out her hand. “Regina Mills.”

“Mal Drake.” She shook Regina’s hand slowly.

Emma cleared her throat. “It’s swell seeing you here, Regina. Mal is my very dear friend from back home. She’s a prosecutor out of Essex County. Back down near Boston.”

“Law? Where’d you go to school?”

“Brown. You?”

“Wellesley.”

Mal looked at her, considering. “Hmm. Wellesley. My first girlfriend went there. What year did you graduate? Maybe you knew her?”

Feeling a combination of awkward and irritated, Emma cleared her throat. “So, Regina. There have been some huge developments in the story. Neal’s given me some extra time. You’ll get the story as soon as I finish.”

Regina glowered at Emma, looked at Mal, then said quickly, “Fine then. I’ll be in touch. Nice meeting you, Ms. Drake.” Then she strode off without a backward glance.

“She’s ... something,” Mal said, following Regina’s progress to the door with her eyes.

“Yes, she is,” Emma said, although she could tell that the “something” she thought Regina was, was altogether different than what Mal thought.

“You still with Kate? Is that who you’re vacationing with?”

“God no, Emma. She was a hot mess. I didn’t have the energy to put up with her antics anymore. I’m up here alone. And you?”

Emma looked down at her glass, then back up. This was going to come as a shock, she thought. “Neal and I are not together anymore.”

She sighed deeply and took a sip of her tea. “Praise be.”

“What?!”

“Let’s face it. He wasn’t good enough for my Emma.”

Emma felt a warmth in her stomach at the phrase ‘my Emma.’ “You never said anything.”

“I trusted you would figure it out.”

“Lily’s never been a fan either. Was she the reason you didn’t like him?”

“Now, when have  _ I  _ ever been one to be swayed by someone else’s opinion?”

“True,” Emma relented.

“No.” She took another drink and eyed Emma over her cup. “I didn’t like him all on my own. It was always clear that he was a leap first and look later sort. He never seemed to give a thought to what his choices would do to you.”

She’d never thought of it that way. But it absolutely rang true. 

“You’re right as always. Honestly, it was mostly easier to just go along with this for the last year or so, because I knew a break-up might be more difficult than staying together.”

Mal grasped her hand and squeezed. “I know.”

“It was difficult anyway,” Emma reflected on their recent argument.

“I’m sure it was.”

Talk turned to their recent travels and then to local politics, and before long, Emma was calling for the check.

“It’s been lovely seeing you. And when are you going to introduce me to your new man?”

Emma choked. “What? I don’t-“

“Cut the bullshit, dear. You were mortified when you thought I saw a hickey on your neck. Can’t be Neal, so?”

“I wish you weren’t so observant.”

“That’s not the first time you’ve said that, and it won’t be the last.” Mal snagged the check — despite protestations from Emma — and stood to go.

“There  _ is  _ someone. Once we know what we are, you will.”

Mal picked up her bag and started to walk out. “Enjoy yourself. You’re young. Plenty of time to figure things out. Sorry I have to run, Emma.”

They reached the door. “See you back in Boston, Mal.” 

~~~~


	19. Chapter 19

It was still fully light out at half past eight, and Emma was feeling anxious. Although she had put on her softest white tank and shorts as soon as she got home from her lunch from Mal, she still couldn’t get comfortable. There were not enough leads and she had written all she could for the time being. Killian had texted her an apology, that he wanted to see her as soon as possible, but his Council meeting was running long. He’d also texted a few things that made her stomach flip. 

When she heard a text message come through, thinking it was him saying he was coming over, she was momentarily confused not to see his name.

_ LP: HolyShitHolyShitHolyShit _

_ ES: ?? _

_ LP: You free? We have to talk. _

Lily picked up before Emma even heard a ring. “Honey, what have you gotten yourself into?”

“What do you mean?”

Breathlessly, she launched in. “Okay, so those images you sent to me? I recognize that sort of shorthand. The abbreviations of ports, the numbers and letters.”

“Tell me.”

“Somebody was being a bad bad boy. Or girl? What you have right there is a smuggling racket.”

Emma’s stomach sank. This was going to crush Killian. “These ledgers came from a storage unit that Killian’s brother rented. And his old friend Sidney was more recently involved.”

“Well, these guys were raking it in. At least they were long ago. This one’s from 2003. You only gave me the one. What is the most recent ledger?”

“I don’t know. Killian and I haven’t gotten through all of them. Do you see names? Whose ledgers were they? Was Gold mentioned? Smee? Robin?” She was certain David wasn’t involved. Or Killian, for that matter.

“No. None of them,” Lily said.

Emma thought back to her conversation with Neal. “You know, Neal had an inkling something like this was going on. Something big.”

“You two had a chat? Did you give him a verbal lashing?”

“I said what I had to,” Emma said. “He told me he’s spent his life hiding from his dad. That’s why he sent me. I’m still pissed. But I’m going to finish this story now. If for no other reason than to get the truth for Killian.”

“Perhaps you should hand this over to the authorities.”

“I will eventually,” Emma said. She was in too deep to hand it over just yet. But that was her plan. As soon as she sent her article off to her editor.

“This isn’t like some pokey town ordinance hand slap offense, Emma. This is interstate, Feds and felonies.”

“I can handle myself. I’ve dealt with the mob, you know that.”

She huffed out. “At this point, I don’t think you’re in a position to gauge how bad this might get.”

Emma sighed. “I’ll be careful, Lily. Promise.”

“Okay,” she said, softly. “Well, let me know what else happens. I’m invested in this now.”

“Will do. Bye.”

Emma hung up and began to pace. She took out her laptop and pulled up the “Leads” file. And started revising.

_Regina Mills loses election to Killian Jones. She tries to find dirt to bring him down. Revenge_ _or genuine concern?_ Not sure she’s connected to the bigger story. 

_ Sidney Glass does the financials. Helps Smee.  _ _ He knows more than Regina does?? Knows about article. Shielding her from something _ _.  _ Actively trying to prevent Regina from giving me info. Actively trying to protect her.

_ Suspicious companies show up repeatedly in financials of different Town departments.  _

_ Smee is hiding something. Knows about Southeast Clearing House ... likely the others. _

_ Glass and Smee don’t want to be associated with Gold outside of club. _

Sidney and Liam - deceased brother of Killian Jones - conspired to hide ledgers full of smuggling enterprise financials. Were they a part of it or were they hiding for someone else? Was Smee involved too?

_ Gold has shady business dealings. Had (has?) money to spare. Computer lab 2003.  _ He’s likely the epicenter of all of this. Won’t talk with me. Thomas Willard - look into.

_ Robin Locksley, fiancé of Regina — Disappeared. Related? _

_ Killian Jones is well liked by most constituents and employees. Lost his brother. _

_ Killian Jones is secret owner of expensive boat. Became very wealthy in very short number of years. Suspicious? _

|

That was all she could do at this point. She snapped the laptop shut and, to keep from wearing a hole in the rug, she opened the door and stepped outside. She’d take a nice long walk; and maybe then she’d figure out a way to tell Killian about this without breaking his heart.

~~~~

It was only three blocks before she ran into familiar faces. Mary Margaret and David were seated on a bench, under a street light, in the small park right in the center of town. _ Damn. _ Her head wasn’t in the right place to be having an upbeat conversation about the weather or — likely — birds. But when Mary Margaret smiled with such open affection at the sight of her, Emma couldn’t help but smile back and walk over to join them on the opposite bench. 

“Hi, you two!” Emma said.

“Fancy seeing you,” Mary Margaret said.

David said, “Hey Emma!”

Emma grinned, “I see we’re taking this public, eh? Bringing a little excitement to this quiet little town?”

“Quiet? Storybrooke? Never,” David said with a grin.

“Luckily for us, Emma’s going to get us some attention with her article, right?” Mary Margaret asked innocently, and Emma tensed. This was not the first time she’d heard this sentiment from people in this town that she cared for already so much. 

Emma looked around at the deserted park, the sidewalk beyond, and back to Mary Margaret. She inhaled heavily and looked at her feet. This charade was coming to its natural end, Emma thought. She had honed in on what was probably the root of the rot in this town and it wasn’t corruption for political gain. It was a criminal racket that happened to touch the Mayor’s office. Killian was already aware of her true purpose in Storybrooke. Mary Margaret and David were not remotely involved. She trusted those two to keep a secret. No reason remained to keep up the falsehood other than her own fear of losing the friends she cared about deeply.

David was too busy making heart eyes to notice, but unfortunately for Emma, she couldn’t say the same for Mary Margaret.

Mary Margaret looked at her. “What is it, Emma?”

Emma looked at Mary Margaret, then David, and back. “About the article. I think it’s time you knew the truth.”

And so they sat, quietly, David gripping Mary Margaret’s hand, as Emma told them everything. She pulled no punches. Emma watched Mary Margaret’s expression change from shock to anger, and from anger to horror, and finally to resignation. She said nothing the whole time. Just waited for Emma to finish.

David was the first to speak. He shook his head, “I knew this was coming. Still, this is going to take some time to get past. I wish I could tell you that finally knowing the truth is a relief but it isn’t. Because,” he paused, “I like you, Emma, and the lies hurt. But, I’ve got to put that aside because holy shit - smuggling? Are you sure?”

“Yes. I had just worked myself up to calling Killian so that I could break the news to him.”

“And Liam’s involved?” Mary Margaret said, her voice almost a whisper.

“In some way, yes.”

“Oh Emma,” David groaned. “This is going to crush him. You know that?”

“I do. That’s probably the main reason I’m out here clearing my head. It’s news I don’t want to deliver.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” he said.

“No,” Emma said. “It should be me. We’re in this together now.”

Emma saw Mary Margaret glance at David and nod, as if in quiet confirmation of what they suspected all along. That Emma and Killian were a ‘we.’

After a long beat, Mary Margaret spoke, louder but lacking that effervescence Emma was fond of, “I wish you had been honest with me. I can’t help but feel like I was being used.”

“I feel just awful about that. If it helps, you should know that I tore up my notes — metaphorically speaking — hours after we met, Mary Margaret. I wasn’t using you. I just wanted to be your friend.”

Mary Margaret looked away, inhaled. “I want to be mad at you. I do. But I also know what it is when Regina gets it into her mind to take someone down. We lived through the election. You couldn’t have known. You were just doing your job.”

“That’s no excuse. I know it. But I’m not the same person now as I was when I came. At first it  _ was  _ just me doing what I do. Investigative journalists have to be discrete. And driven. The job was everything. Then I — well — I met you. And you got to me. Right here,” Emma put her hand on her heart. “Then David. That beautiful boat out there. The rest of this town.” She knitted her brows, meaningfully. “Your mayor.”

Mary Margaret patted David’s hand and said, “I’ll just need a little while. But it will be fine. We’ll be fine. Besides, now that I know what’s going on, maybe I can do some reconnaissance for you?”

A wide smile crossed Emma’s face. “If we need you, we’ll let you know, Jane Bond.”

Mary Margaret giggled and Emma thought,  _ Okay. We’re going to be okay. _

~~~~

Killian heard the doorbell ring, just as he had begun to text Emma that he wanted to see her. 

Nine o’clock at night and he hadn’t been able to break away from his meetings until minutes ago. He didn’t just want to see her because he needed her — he did — but, rather, because he was growing concerned for her safety. No one had heard from Sidney yet. Earlier in the day one could have chalked his absence up to a rough morning, or illness, but he’d called around. Still nothing. If he could just hold Emma close to him, and know that she was safe, then he would rest easy.

So, when he clicked the deadbolt, and opened the door to find Emma, the relief washed over him. In seconds he crossed the space separating them, pulling her to him and kicking the door shut.

He exhaled. “Swan.” 

The heady rush of her sudden apparition on his threshold, and the solidness of her, had him smiling against her lips. 

“Hi, yourself,” she said, nuzzling into a spot on his neck and sniffing, “Mmmmmm.”

“That sound you just made - it’s like my own personal siren song,” he said, tipping her chin up to kiss her.

It didn’t matter how many times they did it, each time her mouth was on his was just as intoxicating as the first. One of his hands slipped down to cup her ass and bring her closer. Having her pressed to him sent an immediate jolt of arousal to his nethers. The hand in her hair fisted. He could not get enough of this woman.

Suddenly, she tilted her head back and said, panting, “Wait! Hold on.”

He leaned back, winded, “What is it Emma?”

“I didn’t come here for this. Not that it isn’t nice and I don’t want to do it again, but I came to talk.”

His heart sank. “What about, love?”

Her eyes darted to the study, “I think we should go in there. I’ve got news.”

The way her voice dropped at the end had him bracing himself . He supposed his news wasn’t fantastic either. “I have something as well,” he said, as they walked into the room.

“Oh, right,” Emma said, pulling the borrowed ledger from her bag and laying it on the table. “Sidney. How did it go?”

“It’s sort of a good news, bad news, situation, I’m afraid,” Killian said. “Good news, the key is back in the desk. Bad news, Sidney is in the wind.”

Emma had begun to flip the pages of the book and froze. “Missing?”

“Yeah.”

Emma looked down, deep in thought, then shook her head and said, “Killian, if that’s your bad news, you need to know that what I have to say is even worse.”

“How could it be worse than a missing person?” Killian asked, and a tingle of anxiety ran down his spine. 

“Those ledger entries I sent to Lily - accounting books for an international smuggling enterprise.” 

“Smuggling?”

“Yeah. Lily’s sure of it. See here,” she pointed at the page. “Goods acquired, sold, price paid. Zero if it was stolen - I guess by them. And ports where they sold or acquired products.”

“Stolen?” he said.

“It appears in some cases, yes,” Emma said. 

“So Liam and Sidney were involved in a smuggling ring?” He was having trouble making sense of the words.

Emma took his hand, “Let’s not jump to conclusions. Maybe they weren’t involved. Or, I don’t know. Maybe they were but they weren’t the only ones. You know, given my conversation with Smee, it’s possible he was in this too. I’ve been thinking that might be the case.”

He thought of the time that Smee confessed to him, over many drinks, that he had a past similar to Killian’s… to Liam’s and he gritted his teeth.

“Perhaps your friend was wrong?” he said, hope fading.

Emma simply shook her head and squeezed his hand tighter.

His mind began to race. Liam, suddenly having the money to pay for college. Liam, encouraging him to get away from Storybrooke and make something of himself. Liam and Sidney, hiding these ledgers. Sidney visiting Smee at City Hall regularly. Smee and Liam on all of those trips on the Jolly Roger.

“The Jolly Roger!” Killian said, standing up. “They used the Jolly Roger!”

“I had thought of that,” Emma said, sadly.

What had his brother done?!  _ How long  _ had he done it? He grabbed both boxes and dumped them onto the table, started frantically thumbing through books. 

Emma caught on without him needing to speak a word. There was a nearly complete set of quarterly ledgers from 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004…

Killian came to the last book, the most recent, and flipped to the last page. August 2005. Everything went a bit fuzzy around the edges and he sat back. Handed the book to Emma. And just as he passed it across the table, a two page document, folded in half, slipped free from between the pages.

He picked it up. He looked at her, inhaled deeply, and opened it. The handwritten code at the top of the pages tickled something in his mind, but he couldn’t remember where he’d see those numbers before. He continued on, speaking to Emma as he went.

“It’s an automotive write-up from a place called Leyton’s Auto Repair, out of Augusta. It’s ... ” He flipped to the second sheet and then back to the front, looking at the date on the top of the page:  _ August 1, 2005 _ . The missing police file. That was where he’d seen this code.

It was a crash report. He scanned all the way until the end and this line: “ ... further inspection revealed that the car’s brake lines were severed. This ultimately would have led to the crash in question.”

“No. Holy Mother of Jesus. No,” The document slipped out of his hand and to the floor. His face was stricken.

“What Killian? What is it?” She grabbed the page off the floor and read it as Killian put his face into his hand, back hunched. 

She looked at the crash date listed at the top of the page again. “August 1, 2005. Why does this date seem so familiar?”

He tried to form words but none came. Liam hadn’t had an accident. Liam was murdered. Liam was in a smuggling ring and he was murdered. 

“Oh, Killian.” She crossed to him quickly and threw her arms around him, letting him sob silently into her shoulder.

Killian was muttering, “I knew something was wrong with him. He wasn’t himself. And then when he- When I found out he had taken out a life insurance policy only months before the accident, I thought it was odd. Just ... didn’t realize.”

“How could you have known?”

“All this time he was murdered, and I was oblivious.”

Emma lifted a hand to his face and swiped at the dampness there. “I’m sorry I brought this to you. This is my fault.”

He caught her hand with his; squeezed. “You don’t need to apologize. You brought me the truth, Emma.” He kissed her forehead and walked away to the mantle. 

The moment of tenderness pushed back his sorrow long enough for something even more terrible to bob up to the surface of his mind. A single question: Who killed Liam?

Sidney was hiding the ledgers. Sidney was hiding the police report. Sidney had left when Killian got close to the truth. Something heavy and red and blinding rolled over top of the utterly devastating pain of losing Liam all over again. That thing was complete and consuming rage.

Somewhere beyond the blood rushing in his ears, he was aware of Emma saying something.

“What?” he asked, working his jaw in an effort to tamp down the emotions.

“I said, I know everything you’re thinking, Killian. I’m thinking it too. Sidney. But, you can’t know who did this. Remember that Gold is involved in it all. Smee as well, I think. Let’s just take a step back from the ledge and remember that we don’t know the whole story.”

Killian took a deep breath, wanting desperately to calm down, so he could say something to her. She looked so concerned. He took another. For her sake.

“Emma, love. I’m going to need a bit of time to work through some of this. I won’t be any good for you this evening,” he said, shaking his head in apology. He craved her comfort but he couldn’t bring that kind of pain to their still-new relationship. Emma had enough to deal with — her ex and her story. She shouldn’t have to play nurse-maid to him for the whole night. Which was how long he’d be wrangling with this. “I cannot tell you how much it pains me to say this, because I don’t mean to give you the impression I don’t want you, but...”

“You need some time to think?” she asked, kissing his cheek. “I totally understand. I’ll go.”

Killian sighed. “You are quite the woman, Emma Swan. Will you at least tell me when you get home? I need to know you’re safe.”

“As long as you tell me you won’t go out tonight and do anything rash,” she said. “I couldn’t bear it if you got hurt.”

He looked into her eyes and saw the depth of concern there. Could he agree to that? When he was already thinking about how, if he couldn’t find Sidney tonight, he was going to find Smee and  _ make  _ him talk. With great effort he breathed in and out. “I won’t do anything tonight. And,” he paused, thinking, “when I go out tomorrow, I’ll take David. Okay?”

She exhaled long and slow. “Good.” Then she kissed him lightly, and left.

It was going to be a long night.

~~~~


	20. Chapter 20

Killian knocked a couple times on the door of the seaside brick cottage that housed William Smee. He had taken the time to check and indeed the red pickup with a cap that served as his primary vessel, so to speak, was parked around back. There was no answer, so he knocked again. “Smee! Open up. It’s me.”

Smee cracked the door, chain still on, and peered out. “Killian.” He looked around. “You alone?”

“Let me in.”

A deep sigh preceded the dropping of the chain and door slipping open. Killian slid into the house, and just before the door closed, like a cat, David Nolan slid in behind him.

“David? Uh. Heh heh. What’s up guys?” Unhappy shock spread from ear to ear.

“You look edgy, mate. Take a load off.” Killian and David approached the man as a front, leading him towards the leather armchair in the corner. Smee backed into it, nearly missing the arm with his hand, before recovering and sitting on the edge of the seat. He looked like a rabbit, ready to bolt.

David said to Killian, “Did you bring the ledger?”

“Le-ledger?”

Killian reached into the back waistband of his pants and grabbed the book. Tossing it at Smee. He flinched.

“Recognize that?”

Smee looked down, confusion now the prevailing emotion. “No.”

“No?” David said. “Are you sure? Open it up.”

Smee cracked the leather bound ledger and took a look at the first page, squinting in concentration. Flipped to the next, back again, and then forward, page after page, before smacking this shut. “I want immunity.”

Killian looked at David, then lunged, grabbing the front of Smee’s shirt and twisting. “Listen, you bleeding excuse for a human being, what kind of extraordinarily ill-advised scheme have you gotten yourself wrapped up in? You know what I found along with this? An automotive report that stated Liam’s brake lines were cut. He was murdered. And it has to do with this business.” He grabbed the ledger with his free hand and rammed the corner into Smee’s chest.

David touched his shoulder. “Killian, maybe you should-“

“For all the friendship I’ve shown you over the years. The jobs I’ve given you. And you come in with demands! Liam’s murdered. Do you hear me?! Robin is gone. Sidney is missing.”

Beneath Killian’s grasp, he squirmed. “Sidney is missing?!”

Killian ignored the question. “What are you hiding? Did Sidney murder Liam?”

Immediately, Smee looked him in the eyes and said, “No. You’ve got it wrong. He’d never have hurt Liam. He loved him.”

“Love? Ha! Fine kind of love hiding his murder. But if he didn’t commit the crime then, who?”

Smee’s eyes were on his hands. 

“It’s to do with Gold,” Killian said, “I have been thinking about this all night and I know it has to do with Gold. Tell me what he’s done.”

“Alright.” He whispered it again, “Alright.”

This time when David touched Killian’s arm, he relinquished Smee’s shirt. His heart was racing and he had trouble focusing long enough to sit down on one of the chairs David had dragged in front of Smee. But he managed to do it.

“William. Let’s hear it,” David said, ice-cold, in contrast to Killian’s heat.

“It started back in 1999. Gold had this idea, you see. Liam was already taking tourists down the coast and doing big ship festivals with the Jolly Roger. How easy would it be for Gold to move stolen goods in the cargo bay?”

“Liam was involved?” Killian asked.

“Not at first, no. Robin and I, we acquired the goods. Glass did the books. I was already on the crew. Easy to slip things on the boat, or disembark and score some booty.” He chuckled nervously. “Can I have some water?”

“No,” they said in unison.

“Fine. No water.” He cleared his throat dramatically. “You know, Liam was always perceptive. He got wise to what was going on after a year or so. Confronted Gold. So, Gold made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Caring for his little brother had taken a financial toll, Gold said. He said that he had an easy way to help Liam give you a good life. To send you to college.”

That hit Killian like a punch to the gut. “For me?”

David looked at Killian with eyebrows pinched in concern. “You want to take a minute, man?”

He’d need far longer than that to adjust to this outright confirmation of what he’d already learned the night before. This new truth ran counter to every fiber of his being. Liam, a surrogate father. Liam, who pulled him back into the straight and narrow. Liam, the guy who would drop everything to help a friend. Liam, who always encouraged him to make something of himself. 

“Killian?” David asked.

Smee shrugged his shoulders and lowered his head. “I’m sorry you had to hear this. I tried so hard to protect you from this.”

The fury Killian felt again was overwhelming. “You’re  _ sorry _ !  _ You’re  _ sorry! Have you no idea the damage you’ve done, keeping this to yourself?”

“I was afraid! Don’t you understand?! Liam’s crash was a warning. Gold said he’d been taking a cut off the top and he was a warning to never double-cross him. I didn’t want to die. I was so afraid, Killian. So afraid.”

“Gold killed him! I knew it!” Killian shouted. “And Robin. Was he a warning?”

“No. No! He said it was too much for him. He was going to marry the mayor, and his lifestyle would cause problems for her. There was no way out other than to leave. He left a note. There was a note.”

“We never saw that note, William,” David said.

“Of course, we couldn’t show you. Gold showed us.”

Killian was pacing. Rage creeping down his skin and clouding his mind. Gold had his brother killed. And he was meant to think Robin simply left without a warning? He didn’t buy it. David and Killian looked at each other. Killian had a good idea they were sharing the same suspicion about Robin.

“Whose ledger is this?” David asked Smee.

“Not mine. I didn’t do the bookkeeping. Glass did. I just recognize the dates and ports. This definitely is about the stolen goods shipments.”

“What does the town have to do with this? How did this business get wrapped up in town accounting?” Killian asked.

“Sometimes, you know. Sometimes Gold had me procure items himself. We didn’t just move other people’s merchandise. And sometimes there were big —  _ very big _ — sums of money from the sales. We had to, you know, make it clean. There were a few front companies. Provided services to Storybrooke. Gold is the name behind these corporations.”

Killian put his head in his hands. Smee had the good sense to remain silent.

“I’m going to need to take you down to the precinct, make this official.”

Smee stood up and held out his wrists. David shook his head. “How about you just come along with us? I’ll read you your rights on the way.”

“I’m scared of what Gold will do when he finds out, David.”

“We’ll bring in extra guards, Smee. You’ll be safe.”

David said to Killian, “You going to be okay, man? This has been a lot.”

“My whole life is a lie. How should I feel?!” Killian said, and the deeper, darker thing he wanted to do bubbled to the surface. “I want to destroy Gold.”

David grabbed Killian by the forearm. “Don’t you go near him. That’s our job. I’m your best friend. I’ll take care of this. Go to Emma.”

“She’s going to leave me, mate. She’s leaving,” Killan said, so quiet David almost didn’t hear. 

“Don’t be so sure. Sometimes you just need to have a little hope. That’s what Mary Margaret always says to me. I’ll drop you at her inn on the way back to the station. She has to hear this. You need her.”

Killian took a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

~~~~

Killian arrived on her doorstep looking far worse than when she had left him the night before.

With a whispered,  _ He needs you,  _ David had delivered him to her care, then left in his truck, Smee in the passenger seat.

Emma ran the back of her hand down his stubbled face. Kissed his cheek. “Come on in, Killian.”

“Emma.” His eyes were pleading.

She held out her hand and he took it, following her to the couch. “Tell me everything.”

And he did. All the sordid details that he had learned from a man he thought to be one of his closest friends, about the brother who had been a father to him — now a fallen idol. Emma held his hands through it all, offered comfort and calm as his emotions roiled. And in the end, when he was done, she had to tell him what she knew. There would be no more omissions between them.

“Killian?”

“What?”

“I have something to tell you.”

He brushed his hand down her arm. “Why do you look so pained? Tell me.”

“While you were with Smee, I was at the Dragon’s Lair. I found Willard. You were right. He’s absolutely heinous. A brut, cold-blooded, and an absolute misogynist pig.”

“Aye,” Killian said. “Sounds like an apt description of the man.”

“He was two sheets to the wind, and possibly riding high on something else, when I found him.” Drunk enough she couldn’t use her recording of the conversation because of journalistic integrity, but she’d deal with that later. “I still had to buy him a couple rounds and plump up the girls to get him to finally talk. He has wandering hands. Ugh.”

Killian’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you could cut to the point.”

Emma noted the simmer behind his eyes. He didn’t like to think of a man treating her like that, she supposed.  _ She  _ didn’t like it either. Means to an end, though.

“Anyway. I nudged around, worked my investigative magic, so to speak. Then he began to talk. At first, it was exciting. The way it always is for me when I get a big break. But the fizz wore off after maybe ten minutes… and turned into a bit of panic. I couldn’t shut him off. He was too out of it to remember where he was, who he was talking to. And I got a bit scared, Killian. It’s bad.”

He brushed his hands down her shoulders, “Love, it’s alright. Did he hurt you?”

“No,” Emma said. “I just didn’t like what I saw in his eyes when he spoke of these things.” 

“Nothing will shock me now, Emma,” Killian said, cupping her face. “Go on now. Tell me.”

“Perhaps some of what he said will ease your mind. A bit?” She sure hoped it did. “Liam did all the things you’ve been told. It seems to be true. Smuggling on the Jolly Roger. All of that. But, in that last year before… that day in August, he was trying to make it right. According to Willard, Liam convinced Sidney to make copies of all their books. They were going to go to the Feds when they had enough evidence.”

Killian bolted upright. “That’s what they were doing with the ledgers!”

“Yes. Their ticket out.”

“Gold got a hold of one of the more recent ledger dupes that Liam was keeping, and that’s when he had Willard cut his brake lines. Gold told everyone else he thought maybe Liam was skimming off the top, but he told Willard the truth of what Liam was up to.”

Killian began to pace, his face was an effort in holding back anger. “I don’t know what’s worse, believing, as I did an hour ago, that Liam died because he was swindling his own criminal outfit, or knowing now that he died because he was trying to make things right.”

Emma had no response that didn’t sound trite. She let him fume.

After a length he turned to her and asked, “Is that all Willard had to say?”

“Unfortunately no. One more thing. Willard told me that Gold had him take Robin on a fishing trip in 2007. They went way out to sea and ... he gave him beer with poison in it, Killian. Something Gold procured and passed on to Willard. Then he tossed the body over the railing.”

Killian clenched his jaw, closed his eyelids. “We all suspected he was gone. He’d never leave Regina like that. No proof, though, you see. Just a feeling. Did Willard say why Gold wanted him dead?”

“No. Not that time. Just told him to follow orders,” Emma said. “Told Willard if he wanted his money, he’d ask no questions.”

“Where’s Sidney in all of this?”

“Willard only mentioned him in passing. My guess is Gold has him by the balls. Two of his friends died because of missteps. He doesn’t want to lose Regina. And I suppose he doesn’t want to die,” Emma said grimly.

“No,” Killian agreed. “He’s canny. I’m worried he’s gone for good.”

“Maybe he’s at his girlfriend’s house?”

“Girlfriend?” Killian drew up short, his eyes widening. “What girlfriend?”

Emma thought back to the interaction she had before she left the Dragon’s Tail. “The bartender at the Dragon’s Tail. After Willard spilled his guts, I think, maybe… she heard the end of the conversation. She asked what Willard said about Sidney. I didn’t tell her, but she just looked at me with a sort of worried expression, pitched her apron in the corner, and took off, texting someone. Her name was Nita something.”

“Nita Reynolds? I know her. You think he’s with her?  _ There’s  _ a possibility. He might be at her place.” For the first time since David had dropped him off, Killian lost that half-angry, half-melancholy expression. Now his face and his gait were alight with purpose. And he was moving for the door.

“Don’t go, Killian. Or,” she said, “take me with you.”

“This is something I have to do alone.”

“Two people dead, Killian. This isn’t the time to go all lone wolf.”

“I know how to take care of myself. I’ve lived on the streets. I’ve sailed pirate-infested waters. I’ll be fine. I’m a survivor.”

“If Sidney’s not there, promise me you won’t go to Gold without David.”

His eyes flashed. She could see how desperately he wanted to hurt Gold. “I won’t. Heaven help me, I want to, but I won’t. I have to know the truth first. When I go to him, there won’t be any loose ends. It will be to end him.”

“Metaphorically speaking, right?”

The just-slightly-off sunny look made her heart sink. “Absolutely, love.” His first lie.

“Killian,” she said, desperation in her voice.

“Trust me, Swan.”

He leaned over and kissed her, gripped her hand. Then he walked out, closing the door behind him.

She made a b-line for her computer. She had to get this all down. Everything had moved so fast that she was worried she would miss something, and she wanted to get this right. This had the potential to be front page, above the fold news. Or if things went wrong, it had the potential to be evidence. That thought made her shudder.

Before she’d pulled up her file, there was a knock again.

“What’d you forget, Killian?” She was swinging the door open, eyes already prepared to light on his darkly striking face.

Not. Killian.

~~~~


	21. Chapter 21

“Neal!” She said in shock. Her eyes scanned the area. Was Killian still out there? Had he passed Neal on the way out?

“So that’s who that was.” He nodded to the figure disappearing around the corner. “I’d ask what he was doing here, but, well.” He spread his hands and tipped his head with a nasty grin.

“What do you want, Neal?” She said on a growl. 

“Such a loaded question, isn’t it? What,” he paused, “do I want? What do  _ I  _ want?”

Emma narrowed her eyes, prepared to push him out the door. She didn’t have time for his bullshit.

Tipping his head to the side, and shrugging, he answered his own question. “Honesty, for starters. Or possibly, the story Regina keeps bugging me about.”

“Here’s some honesty, Neal. You sent me in here — into a hornet’s nest — all alone, when I could have used your help. And now, after I’ve thrown myself in harm’s way, bent over backwards to get the truth, you show up.” 

He winced.

“The story is almost finished. I don’t need you anymore,” Emma tried to close the door, but he put up his hand to block it.

“Can I come in anyway? I’ve got something to say.”

She exhaled in exasperation. “Fine.” She ushered him in, shut the door behind him, and let him settle on an armchair while she sat on the couch, arms crossed. At this point, whatever soft feelings she had towards him were left somewhere back in Boston. 

“I’m doing this all wrong. I shouldn’t have said that back there. I just didn’t expect to see  _ him.  _ I came all the way up here and already I’ve blown it.” He took a deep breath. “Damn. I miss how we used to talk. You were my best friend. And my best writer, for all that.”

“What’s with the past tense? Neal, I’m not quitting my job.” She paused, considering. “As for the rest. Look, maybe, someday, we can be friends again. It’s too soon to talk about that.”

He took a deep breath and seemed to come to some sort of a resolve. “Alright. I’ll just have to come to terms with this new norm. That wasn’t the only reason I came, though, Emma. Not even the main reason.”

“What else is there?”

“I got a call from Regina Mills overnight that, frankly, scared me. She says that she thinks because of this story, her friend Sidney is missing.”

She figured Regina would approach them about that soon. Emma wondered if she still honestly thought Killian was involved in this intrigue.

“Killian thinks he knows where he is. He’s going to look for him today,” Emma said. She continued coldly, “That’s what he was here talking about.”

“That doesn’t clear things up for me. You mind telling me what’s going on?”

“Yes. But brace yourself. It’s quite a tale.”

~~~~

“Nita?”

“Mr. Jones.”

He peered past her into her apartment, and she angled herself to fill the space in the door crack. “What do you need?”

She was in a purple pantsuit, hair in a ponytail. “Kind of on my way out.”

“Look. I don’t have time for this.” He pushed past her. “Sidney?”

“Get- Get out!  _ Hey! _ ” She chased him down the hall as he flung doors open.

Sidney emerged from the last door on the right, in a dress shirt and slacks; definitely alive and well. “Marian. It’s fine,” Sidney said.

Killian turned around in time to see the woman — Marian, and not Nita, apparently — holstering a weapon beneath her coat. His head snapped back in surprise. “What the bloody fucking hell!?”

Sidney patted him on the shoulder as he walked by. “Take a load off, friend. Marian, do you want to give me a minute here?”

He looked from her to Sidney, then back.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asked, concern in her eyes.

“Look Nita, or Marian, or whoever you are, I’m not here to hurt him. In fact, it’s possible I can help.”

Sidney sighed. “I agree. It’s time for you to hear the whole story.”

Killian grabbed the back of his neck and massaged the tension there. “Aye. High time for a tale. In fact, I already believe I know much of it.”

Sidney motioned to the couch, looked between the slats of the window-blinds, and then sat down opposite him. Killian sat back and glared at Sidney.

As the time stretched, and while Sidney stared at his intertwined fingers, Killian grew impatient. “There was a smuggling ring. Smee, Liam, Robin, and you. You used the Jolly Roger sometimes. Gold was at the center of it. Liam tried to go to the Feds and he was murdered for it,” Killian could barely get out the words. “Robin was murdered as well. How am I doing so far?”

Sidney exhaled deeply. “Fine. If I’m going to do this, you should know it all, though. There is so much more than that. It all started back in ‘99. Gold came to us with a,” he laughed sardonically, “golden opportunity. Smee and Robin would help him acquire artifacts, art, and antiquities and I would arrange the sales. Sometimes we’d move stolen goods for others, at a price. I’d also keep the books. Liam was brought in not long after. He had been suspicious of our activities on the Jolly Roger, so Gold thought it expeditious. He used Liam’s weakness, you, to bring him in. Gold billed it to him as a short-term thing. We’d all do it for a couple years, make a load, and we’d get out.”

“Only you couldn’t,” Killian said. His stomach still clenched when he thought of Gold using him as leverage against his brother. 

“No. No, we couldn’t. You got back from college in ‘03 and started working more closely with Liam. We all saw how gifted you were with numbers. Gold started to make noises about bringing you in. Using that mind of yours to his benefit. Liam and I wouldn’t have any of that. So he pushed you to go get your MBA. To get out of town.”

“Liam.” He shook his head miserably. To think that all those encouraging words from Liam had been partly driven by his desire to protect Killian. He was starting to get numb to the hits that just kept coming.

“We knew we couldn’t keep you away forever. So we decided it was time to get out. We just needed to be as smart about it as we could. Gold has ways of finding things out. It took a year or so, but our idea was — gather enough evidence to come up with leverage for a plea deal with the Feds. We knew that the information gathered wasn’t safe to keep at our house, so we took out a storage unit under a fake credit card. The whole time, every shipment, every item, every payment, I duplicated in those ledgers we kept in there. When I had access to them, I also duplicated all the old ones I’d already given to Gold. 

“But Gold got a hold of one of my spare ledgers. I was careless. When you have two ledgers from the same period sitting next to each other, well, you know something’s amiss. Liam was there. And, before I had a chance to talk, Liam said it was his. Said he had been skimming off the top for a while now. It was the first excuse he thought of. Of course, Gold knew when he compared the books. The numbers matched.”

“Damn him. He was always the one to take the fall,” Killian said, thinking back to their childhood and all the times he’d done the same for him when they got in trouble. Killian wished he had the chance to help Liam with this but he never knew. Sidney did though. All these chances he had to make things right, and he never did. 

“Why were you hiding the evidence of murder? The auto report?” Killian asked.

“Gold made sure that I made all the arrangements to get the car inspected. Out of town shop with no knowledge of the circumstances. But that auto tech was thorough. Sent the report to the police department per regulations. Gold had me retrieve it. Cover it up. So, I was a part of it. Now I was an accessory.”

“I get it. You were afraid. But, fuck! Sidney. Was it worth it? You lost two friends. I lost a brother.”

“Not a day goes by I don’t think of them. Think of Robin,” he said, swiping across his eyes. “You maybe didn’t know this but Robin was desperate to be the best man he could for Regina. As you recall, she was so different back then. She was a force. When she ran for mayor, he knew she’d win. He didn’t want anything to ruin that for her.”

Killian  _ did  _ remember the Regina of old. The loss of Robin had broken something in her. They had once gotten along quite well. And that was why, to this day, he still had trouble understanding where her hatred of him came from. Killian shook his head, saying, “So he went the same route as Liam did, trying to go clean for me.”

“Exactly. In 2006, Robin and I tried to think up a way out that minimized the punishment for us. Gold had gotten twitchy after Liam. He had all of us open our financials up to him at that point. To make sure we weren’t stealing from him, or planning a big escape trip, I suppose. That’s why we moved the storage unit into the town finances. The town already used Archer for projects. Handy way to keep the payments as far away from Robin and I as possible. Unfortunately, before our plans solidified, Robin reached out to his old girlfriend without telling me about it.”

“Me.” The woman Killian now knew to be called Marian walked into the room. “I was new to the FBI. Called a couple of people in town. Asked the wrong questions, the wrong ways. Within a few months - by this point it was 2007 - Robin disappeared. Of course, now I know Robin was murdered by Gold because he got wind of his plan to get out of Gold’s operation. Then, I just thought he left. I truly just believed he abandoned another girlfriend like he had done with me. So I left town and the case went nowhere. My guilt on that point is overwhelming.”

Killian understood that guilt. He may not have been culpable for what happened to Liam, but the fact he was the motivator behind it still hurt beyond measure.

“After that,” Sidney said, “Gold paid us visits. I don’t know what he used against Smee, but he threatened me with Regina’s untimely demise. And having me charged as an accomplice to Liam’s murder. Said he could make it look like I did it.”

The web Gold had spun was so sticky and so dangerous. Every awful thing that had happened to Killian in recent years seemed to come from Gold’s villainy. Liam’s death. Robin’s disappearance. Regina’s anger at Robin directed to Killian during their campaign. Who knows what other people were suffering. Yet Gold remained untouched. The last time anyone had even attempted to bring Gold down was in 2006. A full decade ago. A year Killian loathed nearly as much as the prior year. The year that…

Killian looked up at Sidney, ice in his veins. “I can’t believe I’m asking this. I don’t know how this could be connected. But, it appears coincidence cannot be taken for granted in Storybrooke. Not anymore. Was my Milah involved in this?”

“Milah?” Sidney asked. “I’m sorry. Gold’s ex-wife?”

“What?!” Killian jolted upright as his stomach dropped. “Did you say ex-wife? Bloody hell, Sidney. Milah - it can’t be a coincidence - did this Milah have long dark hair, pale complexion, dark lips, and a whole lot of spunk?”

“Yes. Sorry to say.”

“What trick of fate sends me to New York City, only to fall in love with Gold’s ex-wife? I was going to ask her to marry me. She left me the night I arrived in Storybrooke with her. He must have said something to her. Done something to her. I tried to reach her. But she’d gone to the West Coast, her co-workers said. Is she dead?” Killian didn’t think he had more fury in him, but every new piece of information was like gas to the flame.

“No,” Sidney shook his head. “This is the first I’ve heard of any of this, Killian. I don’t doubt Gold may have been involved in her leaving. There’s no reason I can think of, that he’d kill her. Their marriage was short. I haven’t heard him speak of her in years.”

“All those Tuesdays he sat across from me at the card table. And said nothing. About any of this. The bastard. But why did he not? After Liam died - after he was murdered - and he was down a man why did Gold never approach me?”

“For one, your best friend went into law enforcement. A real deterrent. And if what you’re saying is true, my guess is that somewhere underneath all of it, he was probably pissed at you. For going after his ex. I know for a fact that he liked having a ready patsy, should things go south.”

“Me? A patsy.” Killian laughed.

“It’s no joke. I truly think he has everything lined up to frame you if he needs to make a quick exit.”

He shook his head, still battling to tamp down his anger. “So how did we get to,” he motioned to Marian, “this?”

“My guilt became overwhelming, Killian,” Sidney said. “I couldn’t stop trying to figure a way out. Gold was so suspicious, though, I couldn’t figure out how. Then Marian made contact.”

“It was Robin’s birthday this year and I just got this pang. You know?” She fiddled with a ring on her right hand. “Never felt right, the way he disappeared. So I reopened the case. I decided to be more careful this time around. Changed my look, my name, worked at the dive bar. Everyone talks at bars,” she said in a knowing voice. “And I made contact with Sidney. His was the name that Robin gave me as someone I could trust. He was willing.”

“Then Regina had to do the revenge thing,” Sidney groaned. “She was still pissed you won, and she was desperate to find something.  _ There has to be dirt _ , she said. Of course, there were endless files at her disposal from her connections in City Hall: call records, budgets, requisitions. I simply couldn’t hide them all. Damn all those public records requirements. It would have been fine perhaps, if Ms. Swan hadn’t gotten involved.”

“Hey, she just moved up our timetable,” Marian said reassuringly, then turned to Killian, beaming. “Your Emma Swan is quite the extraordinary sleuth. If she ever wants a job, she should give me a call.”

His heart skipped a beat.  _ Your Emma Swan.  _ “She is rather something.”

“You’ll have to offer her my apologies,” Sidney said. “I wasn’t the most cooperative interviewee, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll do that.” Killian took a steadying breath. “I guess I can set aside all the persuasive arguments I brought with me to get you to confess your misdeeds.”

“Yes,” Marian said. “We brought in Willard today. Our promise of protection was enough to get him to tell us everything he knows. We now have all we need to indict Gold. Oh, and the US Government would appreciate your returning those ledgers to us at your earliest convenience.”

Killian nodded.

“Smee, we’ve learned, has gone to the town lock-up. We’ll be transferring him into federal facilities and, if he cooperates, perhaps he can reduce his sentence.”

“Gold isn’t going to go willingly, Ms-”

“Sherwood. And no. But my men are pulling together a team and strategy as we speak. We’re intercepting and answering cell phone transmissions, so he doesn’t catch on that Willard and Smee have been brought in. We should have him by tomorrow night. For now, it would be best if you and Emma just laid low.” She grinned. “I’m sure you can think of something to do.”

Killian narrowed his eyes. Were they spying on him and Emma?

Sidney agreed. “It really would be wise, Killian. He knows Emma has more evidence than he’d like. He asked me to deal with her.”

That made Killian’s heart leap into his throat. Loathing spun into abject terror in a heartbeat. “He’s after Emma?”

“Yeah. And if he gets a hold of her, I don’t know what he’ll do. Especially if he has nothing left to lose.”

“I’ve got to go.”

“You have a weapon? Licensed?” she asked.

“Aye.”

“I’d have it handy.” She added, “Just for self defense.”

He was out the door before they could say another word. 

~~~~

Emma sat across from him, arranging her thoughts. Then she thought,  _ Fuck it.  _ With Killian out there possibly in danger, and her need to put this all in writing, she didn’t have time to soften it. She also lacked the desire to shield his feelings when he hadn’t done anything to protect her from his father.

“Neal. You were right. Your father has been operating a criminal enterprise here in Storybrooke since at least ‘99. Probably longer. A smuggling ring that crosses state and international lines. And his cronies happened to do a bit of money laundering via the town. That’s the foundation of the story.”

He sat down his cup, and rubbed his temples. “I knew it would be something like that. Are you going to turn this over to the police?”

“As soon as I finish writing. Killian’s going to get the final information for me right now. Then, we have to go to the Feds.”

“So he’s Killian now? Fuck. If I had known this assignment would cost me this much, I wouldn’t have sent you,” Neal worked his jaw.

Emma was done trying to pussy-foot around Neal’s self-loathing. He’d lost a girlfriend who was already going to break up with him. That’s all this investigative piece cost him. 

“Cost you?! I just comforted a man who found out that his brother was murdered by your father. Your source, Regina, has yet to find out that her fiance was  _ also  _ executed by Gold. I’m not surprised she’s worried about Sidney. She should be.”

Neal leapt up. “What?! He’s had people murdered?”

Emma remained seated. “Yes. Got an off-the-record account from his hitman. That’s why Killian’s going to Sidney’s. To get an account from someone who’ll go on the record.”

Neal began to pace, then look out the window agitatedly. “Emma, he doesn’t know what you know, right?”

“I don’t know what Gold knows, Neal,” she said warily.

“Then I’m going. I know him. I can get information from him,” he wrenched the door open. “He won’t kill his own son.”

“Neal wait!” Emma shouted, and he stopped just outside her door.

“Hasn’t he ruined enough lives? I am going to get the truth of it out of him and then we’ll put this to an end.”

“No!” she shouted after him; he rapidly descended the stairs in front of her door, “Neal, this isn’t about you. You’ll put others in danger. Stop!”

He couldn’t hear her anymore. She watched as his car peeled out and sped away.

“ _ Shit _ !” She whipped around, looking for clothes. She hopped into her shorts, shimmied into a support tank, and put a band in her hair. Took a minute or two to find her phone, her keys, and her recorder. Then she ran out, slammed the door and made a break for her VW Bug. She was only maybe ten minutes behind him. There was still time to stop him.

~~~~


	22. Chapter 22

“We were too late. Gold’s not home. Not at his shop,” David said.

The call from the sheriff came in as Killian passed Granny’s, en route to the Inn and driving as fast as he could without crashing. He had to stop by his house to pick up the gun; it made his stomach tense just thinking about the fact he might actually need it. His stomach tensed further at the thought that a part of him  _ wanted  _ to use it. But there was nothing to be done about any of that. He had to get to Emma. That was all he cared about now. 

“What do you mean you were too late? I just left Sidney’s apartment and he’s working with the Feds. Nita — that woman down at the Dragon’s Lair — she’s with the FBI and she said they were putting together a team. Bringing down this smuggling ring. What were you doing at Gold’s shop?”

“Wait, hold up. The FBI? A team?”

“No time, Dave. No time. What happened?”

“Just doing a bit of reconnaissance. Noticed the back door was ajar at the store, and when I peered in, I saw a body.”

Killian was forced to pull off the road to keep from crashing. “Emma?!”

“No, Killian. No. This guy was knocked out cold. Chloroform maybe. Hit his head wrong. He is just starting to come around.” David turned his head away from his receiver, to field a question from someone on the scene, then he continued. “Says his name is Neal Cassidy. The guy you told me about — Gold’s estranged son.”

_ Emma’s ex,  _ Killian thought. “Is he going to be okay?”

“They’re taking him to the hospital for observation. Despite  _ extreme  _ protestations. Thought I was going to have to cuff him to get him to go willingly.”

“I’ve got to get to Emma. Until we find Gold, she’s in danger.”

“If Emma’s in danger, I’m coming with you.”

“Then let’s hope I’m wrong. That her phone is just dead and all is well.”

David said, “Promise me you’ll call if you find out otherwise?”

“Will do, mate.” Killian ended the call and immediately dialed Emma again, hands shaking. No response. This was his third try.

He was already rounding the corner to her inn. When he slid to the empty curb, he sucked in a breath. Her car had been parked right there when he left. Maybe she parked somewhere else. But his instincts were clanging in warning. He flung open his door and bolted, the car still running behind him. His shouts and pounds on her door were met with silence.

He hit redial. Again. “C’mon Swan. Answer!” Voicemail. Just then his battery blinked out. 

“Fuck!” 

He put his head in his hands. Where could she be?  _ Where would he take her? _

What had Sidney said?  _ “I truly think he has everything lined up to frame you if he needs to make a quick exit _ .”

With absolute certainty, he knew that was what Gold was going to do. Where would he take Emma so that he could frame him? City Hall? Mayor’s mansion. No. Too many cameras. Too much security.

Then it hit him.

He shut off his car, pitched his useless phone in, grabbed the gun off the seat, slammed the door, and hit the pavement at a run. Prayed he wasn’t going to be too late.

~~~~

“You really should have listened to me, Emma Swan.”

Was she dreaming? She was trying to reconcile her last memory of walking into Gold’s back office with this new present. Had she seen Neal lying on the ground or was that her imagination? The salty, slightly fishy smell hit her first, then the gentle tilting of the ground beneath her; she couldn’t seem to open her eyes. Was she on a boat? The Jolly Roger? She tried to move but found her arms and legs wouldn’t comply.

Through a fog, she could see Mr. Gold was in front of her. What was in his hands?

Shook his head. “Wrong place, wrong time. I’m afraid.”

She tried to scream but her voice came out a whisper. “Killian.”

He shook his head again and chuckled maniacally. “Alas, Dearie. Your Mr. Jones has no idea where you are. Your phone is at the bottom of the deep blue sea. And I drove your car over to the Mayor’s manor. Left one of my cars nearby for just this eventuality. Brought you here in that one.”

“What are you going to do?” she croaked out.

“Not me. No no no no no. You see, the  _ mayor  _ was so angry that you’d uncovered his illegal activities, you left him no choice. You’d backed him into a corner. He had to kill you. But then, after he saw your body, he was so horrified at what he had done that he took his own life.”

“No.” She squinted, trying to see his face. “Don’t.”

Gold pulled out something dark. Emma registered what it was the second before he said it. “A Glock from Killian’s cache below-decks. Nice of him to supply me with his murder weapon.”

Emma lowered her head. This was how she was going to die. All the criminals she’d pinned to a wall over the years. Embezzlers. Rapists. Mobsters. And it ended in Storybrooke, Maine. On a boat that she loved. Owned by the man that she ... If she couldn’t admit it to herself now, when could she?

She said his name, one more time, knowing it would be lost to the wind. “Killian.”

“You are — well -” he sniggered, “you  _ were _ nothing if not persistent, Miss Swan. Pity you have to die.”

_ “Drop your gun.” _

Emma lifted her head with effort. Could it be? Was that Killian’s voice? Yes. Yes it was. Killian was there. She could see him now - standing on the railing, pistol in his hands.

Gold kept the weapon trained on her. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Jones. You may hit me, but you’ll certainly lose her. Is that what your brother would want? Hmm? Didn’t he pass on his unfortunate trait of needing to do the right thing? You lost him. Do you want to lose her?”

“I lost nothing. You stole  _ everything. _ ”

A truly frightening grin crossed Gold’s face. “I don’t think so. Killian. No. Don’t you understand?  _ You  _ took so much. A ship like this, must have cost you millions. Where did the money come from? When the police find ledgers in your closet; when they see how you’ve been laundering money through your government operations; when Mr. Willard — he’ll do anything for money to feed his addictions — says that you had him kill Robin and your brother to keep the money rolling in; well ... ” He shrugged. “I’ll be in the clear. Now, I had intended to kill you — a dramatic murder-suicide — but it doesn’t matter if you live.”

Squinting through the afternoon light, but with much better eyesight than before, she saw Killian shooting daggers at Gold with his eyes. Emma could tell he was considering his next move carefully.

“Yes,” he chuckled. “This is even better. Emma dies. You have to live your life alone  _ and  _ in a cage.”

“Aye, that all sounds incredibly clever, but you’ve forgotten about Sidney. And Smee has already given his statement to Nolan.”

“No consequence to me. Sidney always falls into line with the right ... pressure. First it was with Liam, then Robin, Regina. I believe he has a girlfriend now. More leverage. As for Smee, everyone knows he is a bit of a rat, and as he’s your friend, he has reason to lie. He won’t hold up as a witness under any scrutiny. In fact, if it comes down to his word versus mine — philanthropist, upstanding citizen, business owner ... ” He spread his hands, and shrugged, gun still in his grip.

Emma could see Killian’s jaw working to contain his fury over the cavalier nature Gold had spoken to him about his brother’s death. His aim remained steady. “Willard has been arrested too, Gold. It’s all over.”

Gold’s eyes darted around, reconsidering, recalculating. And in that instant of distraction Killian charged Gold with his weapon, making him jump and shift his aim to Killian, then back to Emma, then to Killian again. “Stay back, Jones.”

“Alright. Alright,” Killian said calmly. “I won’t shoot. I have a proposition for you. We could both drop our weapons and be reasonable. We’re men of wit and guile, Gold. There are other ways out of this mess you’ve made. I have enough money to make it worth your while to run, disappear, make a new life.”

“What do you get out of that?”

“Emma Swan gets to live.”

She wanted to scream — to tell him not to risk his life for hers — but was worried Gold would pull the trigger. What was Killian doing? He had a gun pointed straight at him and was trying to reason with the psychopath. Her heart was a staccato. She still hadn’t managed to regain enough feeling in her hands to move, but she needed to keep her mind on what she would do if she could. How could she help Killian? She scanned her proximity, looking for something useful.

“What do you care? She’s just another woman in a long line of women. There’ll be others. Men like you always find another bed to lie in. And on that note-” Gold quickly swung his arm and took aim at Emma.

“Don’t! No! Don’t! I love her. I love her!” Shaking with panic, and fear etched in every line of his face, he lowered his hands in entreaty. He turned his head to face her, apologetic and resigned.

The words were like a stab to her heart. The man she loved, loved her in return. So much that he was going to sacrifice himself for her. A tear ran down Emma’s face. The grief was overwhelming. She had only just found Killian, found her home in Storybrooke, and in him. She had never had that before. And now, she was forced to sit and watch the nightmare unfold while she was unable to do anything. She tried to call to him, so she could tell him she felt the same.

Gold’s forceful admonishment drowned her out. “Killian Jones, in love?! You supposedly loved Milah once and you let her go.”

His brow twisted into something savage. He spat the words. “I  _ did  _ love her, Gold. And I don’t know how, but I know you’re why she’s gone. I was going to propose. But she left me.”

Emma’s heart pinched. She felt a nudge of jealousy for Milah. Even more, she felt sorrow at how the memory pained him.”

“You never deserved her. Did you know that we were married? Did she tell you?”

Emma’s eyes widened. Something sparked at the movement. Was she able to control her limbs yet? She gave a cursory toe wiggle.

“I’ve come to learn,” Killian said. “But no, she did not tell me.”

Gold cackled. “Of course. Of course, she didn’t. When she came back to Storybrooke, she sought me out. She asked for my blessing. My blessing! As if I’d let her marry the likes of you, Jones. I whispered a few things that might happen to you, to her, should she remain with you. Gave her a nice sum to sweeten the deal. It was for the best, you know. You’d never have made her happy.”

“You threatened her? Bought her off? Made her leave me that note?” Killian asked, seething.

“I did it for her.  _ That _ , dearie, is love.”

_ The man is evil.  _ Emma’s hands bunched in anger.  _ But, I can move now.  _ Frantically, she looked around for something she could use to defend herself or Killian. All that was near her was a wooden bucket and brush, used for cleaning the decks. And a few fishing supplies. Something glinted under the tackle box.

“You have no idea what love is.” Killian’s voice was low and deep, malice dripping with every word. “Everything you do, you do for you, and you alone. You crave power and money, and that warped version of ‘love’ matters far less to you than either of those things. And, it is warped, because — as I’ve come to discover — you have only ever viewed  _ true  _ love as weakness, as leverage you can use for your own ends. You’re like a snake or a weasel or ... a crocodile, slinking through filth and mud, towards whomever you’ve manipulated to do your dirty work. It’s never you that gets hurt, is it? Everyone around you has the strength to stand up for, to sacrifice for, the ones they love. But not you. You know what that makes you?  _ A coward _ .”

Gold’s face contorted into a repulsive, lip-curling sneer. “I’m a coward, am I?”

Sensing a move from Gold, moments before he made it, Emma grabbed the silver fillet knife and flung it at him, adrenaline fueling every ounce of strength it took to do so. In a stroke of luck, it hit him in his hand, distracting him long enough for Killian to lift his arm and get out a well-aimed shot at Gold.

Unfortunately, Gold had gotten out  _ his _ shot, despite the distraction.

The ear-splitting sound from Gold’s weapon came a split-second after Killian’s. It was a sound that had every ounce of blood rushing away from Emma’s face and arms and out through the bottom of her heart. 

Both men had been struck and fell where they stood.

Scrambling and tripping on limbs that still wouldn’t quite cooperate, Emma lurched towards Killian. He was sprawled on the planks a few yards from Gold. There was blood. Oh God, there was blood.

Between the ringing in her ears from the gunshots and her blood hammering, she could barely hear her own screaming voice as she reached for him, shouted at him to wake up. Tearing back his shirt, wet with blood, she searched for the source. The fresh wound was on his shoulder; her near-paralyzing panic eased the slightest bit at the sight. She lightly patted his pockets, looking for his phone so she could call for help. No phone.

She glanced back at Gold’s still-prone body, afraid he would get up and take another shot, but he was down. What she had done had given Killian the advantage.  _ Good. _

Desperate to touch Killian, but afraid of hurting him, she knelt at his good side and began to stroke his hair. “Killian, it’s me. You’re going to be okay.”

There was a little movement, a sharp bark of pain, and Killian opened his eyes. “Swan?”

“You’re alive,” she smiled, tears now flowing down her face.

“Before you say anything else-” He groaned, then squeezed her hand. “I love you. If I perish, I need for you to know that I meant it.”

“Oh, Killian. I love you, too,” she said, laying kisses on every inch of his face. He laughed and kissed her back, lifting his uninjured arm to cup her head. “You’re going to have a good long time to get used to that fact, too, because you’ve only got a shoulder wound.”

“Aye? See! I told you I was a survivor.” He started to lift his head, then sucked a breath through his teeth. “Bloody hell, though. It hurts.”

She caught the sound of pounding footsteps cresting the side of the boat and turned to see David hop down and make a dash towards her. “I heard shots. What-” He drew up short, taking in the scene, then grabbed at his phone, dialed, then barked out orders for back-up and EMTs.

Emma grabbed David’s arm. “Look. I don’t know if Gold is dead or alive. He attacked me; tried to kill me. Killian had no choice.”

“He had to be the hero, didn’t he?” David shook his head looking at Killian. “You’ll do anything for attention.”

“I couldn’t have done it without Emma, mate. She’s quite the hand at knife-throwing.”

David looked off into the distance, in the direction of approaching sirens. “Emma has you now. Medics are coming. You’ll be fine. I’ve got to go see about Gold.”

Killian’s good arm lifted to her face. “Quite the elaborate scheme, all to get me on my back on the Jolly Roger.”

“When your shoulder is better, I’ll have you on your back on every single square inch of the Jolly Roger.”

He grinned and winked. “Hmm. I’m already starting to feel better.”

“Easy there, bucko.”

He chuckled, then glanced away, not meeting her eyes. “You’ll be leaving for Boston soon.” It was almost a question.

Killian didn’t try to hide the touch of sorrow. Emma looked at his face and her heart thudded hard in her chest. She couldn’t leave him. She couldn’t leave this town. Not now. Not after all she’d found here. She wouldn’t go into the next year of her life being alone. Storybrooke was her home.

“I’m staying in Storybrooke.”

“What about your life in Boston? Your job? Your friends?”

“I can still do my job here. And Lily — she’ll be happy for me. But, Killian, what I’ve found here I’m not willing to give up. This crazy little town. Friends who somehow feel like family. Most of all, the mayor. Who isn’t a half bad kisser.”

He laughed, then grimaced. “Not sure I’ll be the mayor at all after this.”

“It’ll be fine. You didn’t do anything criminal, and that can be proven. As for the court of public opinion? The pen is mightier than the sword. Aren’t you lucky you’ve got a crack reporter writing your story?”

The sound of emergency vehicles arriving caught their attention. Followed by lots of voices and footsteps, thumping down the docks.

“Come here, Swan. Wouldn’t want to leave without one of those kisses you can’t get enough of.”

Leaning down, heady with the certainty of her feelings for him and all the plans they had yet to make, she threaded her fingers into his hair, and kissed him.  _ Whoa _ , she stood by her assessment of his abilities. Wounded, on his back, with only one good arm, he could still deliver a kiss that made her toes curl.

“We’ll take care of him, miss,” said an unfamiliar voice approaching her from behind.

Killian let go of Emma, half grin-on his face, and she smiled back.

The EMTs were everywhere, communicating with each other about Gold’s apparent chest wound and his odds of making it to the ER, and prepping Killian to move.

David came towards them, blood on his hands and shirt, “I have a lot to do here, Killian, or I’d go with you to the hospital. The Feds are on their way. It looks like you’ll have fine company, instead.”

“Aye. And as my newly appointed first mate, you’ll be swabbing the deck when your official capacities are done.”

“It’ll be clean as a whistle.” He knitted his brows. “Glad you’re okay, man.”

As the EMT’s signaled they’d be taking Killian away, he leaned over and whispered, “Don’t think I’ll forget your promise, Swan.  _ Every  _ inch of the Jolly Roger.”

She laid a light kiss on his temple and whispered back, “I always keep my promises, Mr. Mayor.”

Then he was lifted into the ambulance and he was gone.

~~~~

Emma put her hands on her hips and watched as Killian carried the next to last box up the stairs to her new apartment. Right near the marina, of course. It had been a little over a month and although she protested, he swore his shoulder was well enough to help her unload. At least the heat wave had long since subsided. She hated moving enough as it was, but doing it while sweating buckets would have been worse.

That morning, she’d hand delivered copies of the Sunday Globe to her friends around town. The last stop had been Mary Margaret’s place. She got two copies because David was there more than he was at his own apartment. It carried the third and final installment of her story, “Smuggling, Murder and Intrigue: One Man’s Quest for Money and Power in Storybrooke Maine.” From the morning the news broke, the public was clamoring for more. Media requests for Emma to make appearances on local media outlets came in immediately. As did requests for Killian. That hadn’t surprised her. After all, she was a genius at crafting a story so that the reader’s sympathies landed where she designed them to fall. 

After this installment, she expected a lot more press attention of a different sort. She hadn’t pulled any punches with her re-telling of the shoot-out on the Jolly Roger. Despite the fact that Neal had sign-off on the article, he hadn’t said a word to Emma about the specifics of it. Not about his father, who had just been upgraded to stable condition and would be sent to prison afterwards to await trial. And not about the way that she had described Killian taking a bullet for Emma. At this point, she supposed Neal’s role in putting her in harm’s way had given him sufficient enough guilt to stifle any of the jealous anger he surely felt after reading about how quickly she formed a deep connection to Killian. 

Anyway, the romance angle was always a hit with readers and Neal knew what sold.

Tossing the remaining paper she had kept for herself onto her box, she hefted it and went into the apartment. It was a spacious one-bedroom with pale blue paint in the living room, and a beautiful view of the Jolly Roger. Turning to look out upon it for the dozenth time that day, her stomach flipped. Could her life be believed? Beautiful view, stunning boyfriend, perfect town, and a career she loved.

Killian was in the open-air Kitchen. He was slipping a gift back out of a sack. 

“What’s that Killian?” Emma said, setting down the box.

“Just a little housewarming gift, love,” he said, winking. “Open it.”

Emma reached in and pulled out a bottle of champagne. “Looks wonderful, thanks.”

“When a new ship launches, there’s always champagne,” he grinned. “It felt apt.”

She smiled and looked inside. There was a sheet of paper. On it was a ship’s itinerary. For the Jolly Roger’s next voyage in a week. Stapled to the top was a boarding ticket.

“Oh!” She threw her arms around Killian. “You’re taking me with you? To Bermuda?”

“Aye,” he said, “If you’re not otherwise engaged.”

“There’s no place I’d rather be than with you on that ship.”

So much had happened between Killian and Emma. It hardly seemed possible they’d only met close to two months ago. Each new day with him was an adventure she couldn’t wait to have. And now, he would give her the experience she’d always dreamed of: sailing out into the great wide sea. With him at the helm. Because she could, Emma kissed Killian with such intensity that she had to anchor herself to him so as not to sway on the spot.

“I love you, Swan,” he said, smiling against her mouth.

“I love you too, Killian,” she said, thumbing his jaw.

Killian leaned back to look down at her, arms circling her with such adoration in his eyes her heart soared.

“Welcome home, Swan.”

~~~


	23. Epilogue

Storybrooke was ablaze with colors. Spring had finally descended in earnest by late May and, for the first time in months, restaurant patios and porches were full of life. Flowers, people, chatter, and the smattering of tourists catching a pre-Memorial Day weekend vacation were filling the streets.

Emma sat, the tiniest bundle of blanket-wrapped baby in her arms. His eyes were closed, despite the noise all around them.

“He definitely favors his mother,” Killian said, looking down at the baby fondly.

Emma thought it was altogether too early to tell, but he  _ was _ beautiful.

“Definitely,” David said, grinning over at Mary Margaret.

Mary Margaret laughed, “Oh, stop it you two. James is barely a month old. He’s too tiny to tell.”

A little noise had Emma looking down and she saw him turn his head towards her, mouthing. “Looks like he needs his mom.”

Mary Margaret reached her arms out for him, made some adjustments beneath her flowing white shirt, and settled him against her to feed.

“The ceremony was just lovely, guys.” Emma thought back to the scene — willow arch dripping with flowers, ferns and greenery — and the soft green light of the forest everywhere. Mary Margaret and David staring into each other’s eyes as though the moon shone from them. “Sorry your families couldn’t come.”

David shook his head. “No. Don’t be. It’s the family we’ve made here that’s most important. Mary Margaret, James, Killian,” he paused, “and you, Emma.”

Emma reached out to squeeze his hand. “Thanks, David. The feeling is mutual.”

“That is just so sweet,” a voice said from the neighboring table. “Our Emma has found her home.”

Emma grinned at Lily. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get mushy on me over there.”

Mal, seated with Lily, smiled at Emma. “You know I don’t do mushy. Still. I’m happy for you.”

Hearing a clip of heels coming towards them, Emma looked back, knowing she’d find Regina. 

There was something different about Regina. It wasn’t in her flawless navy dress and heels, but perhaps the way she held her shoulders - a bit softer - or the way she put her hand on the back of Mal’s chair when she came to a stop. No. There was something in Regina’s eyes. A softness that was reflected in Mal’s as she glanced up at her. Emma wasn’t accustomed to that sort of unguarded emotion from Mal. And certainly not Regina. 

_ Love moves in mysterious ways, _ she thought. Even if the two didn’t know it themselves. Yet.

Regina took a breath and spoke to Emma, “There’s something I’ve been meaning to say, Emma. It took a long time to get over knowing what happened to Robin. But, I wanted to thank you for finding the truth for me. It wasn’t the truth I expected.” Regina looked at Killian and shrugged. “I am sorry. For everything.”

Killian simply tipped his head, saying, “Much appreciated.”

Emma hoped she hid her surprise. What a difference nearly a year, some peace about Robin and a potential new romance brought to this woman. “I recognize how hard that was to say and I accept. Some of it may never sit right with me, Regina. But it is what it is. Besides, because of your lead, Gold was finally brought to justice for his crimes. And because of that, Killian and everyone here is safe and things can get back to normal. Without that story I would never have found my real home.”

Mal beamed at Emma.

“The Goldsmith Award and offers to option for a movie kind of make up for it, too, right Emma?” Lily grinned. “Wonder who they’ll get to play me?”

“I haven’t gotten back to them yet. I’m not really sure that anyone wants to see this on the big screen, so let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Regina looked at her watch, then down to Mal. “Do you want to walk with me?”

“Sure,” Mal said, standing with her, glint in her eye. “Lily, can you drop by at 3 to pick me up? I’d like to get home before rush-hour picks up.”

“Absolutely, Mom.” She grinned at them as they walked away, sides pressed together like they were drawn by an unseen force.

As they rounded the corner, Emma watched as Mal tucked one of Regina’s hairs behind her ear and whispered something to her. Even from where Emma sat, she could see the sly grin on Regina’s face as she moved towards her to kiss, and then they disappeared from sight.

Lily looked down at her buzzing phone and grabbed up all her things, started for the sidewalk. “Shit! I have to take this back at the inn. Emma I’ll catch up with you later. Oh, shit, I said ... I mean. Sorry. Didn’t mean to curse in front of the baby.”

“It’s alright, Lily. Thanks so much for coming,” Mary Margaret said, laughing.

“Bye Lily,” Emma said.

“Entertaining as always,” Killian grinned as she darted away.

Mary Margaret set James in his carrier and looked at David. “I think it’s time we headed home for our honeymoon. Although,” she laughed as she looked down at the baby, “we got a pretty good start on our honeymoon last August, didn’t we?”

Killian stood up, offering an arm to Emma. “I’ll say.”

“Did you decide where you’ll go when you’re ready to leave James with us?” Emma asked, grabbing her purse.

“No, we haven’t had much time to work it out, between this and that. But of course we’ll take you up on your offer when we know,” David said.

“You can watch him in turns, I suppose. One night with Killian, one with Emma. Or Emma can stay at Killian’s or ... ” Mary Margaret trailed off.

David chuckled, casting a meaningful look at Killian. “We’ll think about it later.”

“Congratulations again, mate. See you later.”

“Yeah. Congrats,” Emma said. “We were so happy to stand up for you both.”

With a shuffle of chairs and baby stuff, hugs and kisses, Emma and Killian took their leave of the newly married — and incandescently happy — couple. Killian cast an eye towards the sea. “What say you to a little walk?”

“Absolutely.”

He slipped his arm around her back, without a care in the world, focused only on each other, they walked out into the Spring splendor.

~~~~

The Jolly Roger cast off amid a mist left behind by the last round of storms. Killian said there would be a good week with “nary a cloud in sight,” and Emma was looking forward to visiting Bermuda again under blue skies. It was one of the many places she’d been aboard the Jolly Roger in the last couple of years, but the last time around had been a bit hairy in terms of weather.

She was a natural-born sailor according to Killian. And with satellite and internet, she was still able to pursue her writing onboard. That is, when she wasn’t occupied with working the riggings, or keeping the ship clean, or spinning a tale for tourists to pass the hours. She often worked with the same crew of around eight other men and women, and they were an easy-going group that she had come to love. 

One time, after a light-hearted story about Smee rescuing Killian from a language barrier mishap that almost got him married off to a Lithuanian sailor, Emma caught the glint of sorrow in his eyes. Later, she asked if he missed his first mate; he had told her yes, more than he could say. She liked to believe that he had come to a place of — if not forgiveness — understanding where Smee was concerned.

Emma and Killian rarely talked of the more difficult aspects of what happened to him or to them. Gold was in maximum security with no hope of parole. Sidney and Smee had cut deals and would be released in two years. After weeks of endless media coverage, wherein Killian was called to recount so much of the memories that brought him pain, they’d decided together it was time to put an end to accepting media requests. When the movie deal came along, it took a lot of long, hard conversations before they agreed to the terms. Emma sent word to her lawyer that they would only sign the contract if there was a clause limiting their amount of press junket interviews. They would leave the rest to those who could deal with the attention. For the time being, thoughts of all that could be set aside.

There was nothing preventing them from simply enjoying every day as it came for now. Every evening, as well. Nights under the stars, on the open ocean, were everything Killian had said and more. When the waters were still and there was nothing for the crew to do but sleep — those were the nights she loved best. Slipping up to the quarterdeck under a dark moon, laying down beneath blankets and liberating themselves of their clothes, to languor in caresses and slow, quiet love-making was a rare indulgence.

Tonight was one of those nights, Emma thought, blithely. Blanket over his arm, a sack over his shoulder, and clad only in a pair of plaid sleep pants, Killian crept out of the captain’s quarters and checked for stragglers. Nobody was there; the only sound was the thumping of the waves against the hull — a soundtrack to life at sea that Emma had come to love.

As they softly padded up to the quarterdeck, the splendor of the night sky came into focus and Emma smiled. Pin-pricks and small bundles of light in the darkness above bounced across gently rolling waves below, the brighter band of the Milky Way stretching from horizon to horizon.

Killian muttered softly as he laid out the blankets. “Fitting really, that Cygnus is right there.”

“The Swan,” Emma said.

“Correct.” He lifted a small candle and matches from the sack, lit it, and sat it on a nearby crate. “There we are.”

“What’s the candle f-” She began, sucking in her next words on a gasp, as he dropped to his knee.

He took her trembling hand in his and kissed it, held it. “From the moment we met, Emma, I have been lost for you. Sitting there at that cafe, eyes of sea-foam green and freckles on your shoulders. You were so guarded and practically vibrating with contempt for me.” He laughed. “Then and there, any hope I had of self-respect when you were near was gone. I thought, if I could just speak with you — understand what made you tick — perhaps I’d be able to find my balance again. Then, by some stroke of good fortune, you let me touch you, you let me hold you, and ... you let me know you. In knowing you my world was set to rights. Before you, I was plagued by nightmares, both waking and dreaming. Now, my dreams are only happy ones.”

He flipped open a black box. “I can think of nothing better than to spend the rest of my days knowing you. Will you do me the honor?”

With tears in her eyes and so much love that her chest ached with it, Emma said, “Yes, Killian. God yes.”

“Thank the heavens.” He blew out a deep breath and slipped the ring on her finger — a round sapphire set into diamonds that crested around it like waves — and she shook her head incredulous. His eyes, lit by the flickering glow of the candle, caught hers and she saw nearly boundless joy reflected back.

“This. This is simply beautiful.” She held out her hand. “I don’t know what to say. You said you wanted to know me, but the truth is, you have always simply _ known  _ how to love me.”

Sliding her arms around his back and looking up into his eyes, she saw the faintest glimmer of a tear. He brushed the back of his hand down her face and tucked her hair behind her ear. Even now, the gesture made her breath catch. Touching his forehead to hers, he encircled her with his arms, which came to rest at the bare skin between her sleep shirt and her bikini briefs.

Then, he brushed his cheek against hers, rough stubble against soft flesh, and paused long enough so she could feel his eyelash fluttering against her skin. “How you undo me,” He whispered. If words were like music, these four resonated through her like the soft measure in a minor key after a long, drawn-out crescendo. Making her almost weep with emotion. 

They swayed together as the boat shifted beneath their feet, almost a slow dance. Killian’s hand caressed Emma’s back as she laid her head on his shoulder.  _ What a difference a couple years made _ , she thought. Somewhere, in a studio in Massachusetts, there was a set being built, and onto that set would walk an actress cast to look like her, and an actor who would look like him. They would try to capture that magic that bound them. Yet, how could they possibly understand what it was to be  _ them _ ? To share a moment like this, where eternity stretches out in the darkness and although you are both so very small, what you have is so big, so  _ everything  _ that even the sky above isn’t wide enough to hold it.

Minutes passed before either spoke again. “What you said, Emma. The feeling of being home. It’s that for me, as well. Speaking of which, there’s one more thing.” He reached into his other pocket and pulled out another ring box.

Emma’s eyebrows knitted. “You know, you only really need the one ring. Although,” she nodded to his hands full of them, “I know you’re partial to rings.”

“Open it.”

She opened it and- “A key.”

“What do you think?”

“Live with you? We’ve talked about this. The taxpayers foot the bill for that house, and I thought we wanted to be as squeaky clean as possible for this upcoming election season.”

“Aye, but now that Regina’s off to Boston, I don’t expect we’ll see that sort of campaign. Plus, as my fiancée, I thought ... ” He rubbed his ear nervously.

“Yes. Okay. Yes!” Then it all really hit her. “We’re getting married.”

“That is the plan.”

“Hmmm.” She mused. “The town is going to go wild with gossip. Mary Margaret is going to freak.”

“She already freaked. I had to run the ring choice by someone. And Lily. Not that I asked her permission, of course; that’s an antiquated notion. However, I still hoped for her blessing. What the devil does she mean when she says that now ‘you’ll have a ready supply of cinnamon?’”

Emma laughed. “She thought Neal was plain vanilla. When I told her about,” Emma looked away embarrassed, “that night on the ship with you. Uh. Cinnamon.”

Killian chuckled. “Is that so?” He lifted his hand to his jaw, scratched a bit, eyed her. “Cinnamon, eh?”

He picked up the candle, and by its light she saw the shift in his expression — the heavy-lidded eyes, the quirk at the corner of his mouth — before he blew out the flame. Then their world became the navy blue of deep, starlit night.

“Speaking of the Jolly Roger, Swan. ‘Every inch’ of this boat would be christened, you said. My memory is impeccable.”

“It’s been years, Killian. And I’ve been a woman of my word,” She ran her finger down his chest, toyed with his necklace.

“Aye. You have. It occurs to me, though, that we haven’t yet explored this inch right over here.” He pointed, then took her hand and brushed his finger over the newly placed ring. 

“No. I distinctly recall that time-” She leaned over and whispered the lewd details of  _ how _ and  _ in what position _ they explored that spot, dragging her teeth along his ear to put an exclamation point on it.

“Ha ha. Oh!” He yelped when Emma reached around and grabbed his ass. She hoped nobody heard. “Aye. You’re right.” He lifted the hem of her nightshirt and ran his nails lightly across her abdomen, and her desire magnified.

“What about right over there?” she asked.

It was his turn to lean over and remind her, in deliciously crude terms, about the where and when. Then he took even more time to go on a toe-curling exploration of a spot just under her jawline with his mouth. Emma lost the thread of conversation in the feeling of his mouth. With darkness wrapping them like a blanket, they passed the midnight minutes with languorous touches, sensuous kisses, and exceedingly filthy sexual reminiscences, punctuated by gasps and giggles.

“Perhaps you have fulfilled the terms of your promise. We must settle for this inch right here.” Killian said, and she had been so wrapped up in her need of him that she had to try and remember.  _ What was he talking about?  _ He nodded down to the blankets. “How does the saying go? It is not the inches but, rather, what you do with them that counts?”

She chuckled. “Easy for a man of-” she moaned as he ran his finger behind the elastic of her panties, “substantial inches to say.”

“Go on. Tell me more about my prowess, love.”

Emma tugged him down to the blankets. “After tonight,  _ love _ , you’ll be singing my praises.”

Pushing him to his back and straddling him, she pinioned his hands at his sides and slowly shifted her weight, grinding and pressing against him. Look at this man.  _ Her _ man. Her  _ fiance. _ She knew him so well. When it came to love-making, there was nothing he wanted more than to control her pleasure. To control her release. Usually she was quite happy to oblige. But the ring on her finger had put a fire in her. She wanted to be the one in control tonight. 

When Killian cursed in frustration at not being able to touch her, she simply moved more lazily against him. It was rather intoxicating, hearing him suck in his breath and feeling him tense beneath her, while his hands grasped at her own where she held him down. She drove him to the precipice of nearly unbearable explosive pleasure and then denied him, over and over.

Knowing when it was time to put him out of his misery, she slipped out of her underwear, knelt astride him and directed him inside.

“Fuck, Emma,” he sucked through his teeth.

Placing her feet on either side of his head, she rocked slowly back and forth, drawing out each motion, as he laid beneath her. The hands she relinquished locked tight to her hips. Grateful for the pill, she spared a thought for how much better it was to feel the slide of him inside of her, as he was now; to feel every part of his length pressing, skimming across the spots that sent tremors down her legs. Knowing she could have him like this every day for the rest of her life if she wanted only amplified the feeling. How could he fill her so much and still she needed more?

Killian pushed up to meet her, face to face, lifting her up and settling her back down onto him, as he tucked his knees beneath him. “Needed to see you, love.” He took her hand in his and spun her new ring. “I needed more of you.”  _ So he felt this way too,  _ she thought. 

Wrapped in each other’s arms, with her knees pressed in on either side of him, there was no part of her that wasn’t in contact with him. Joined, like this, they were something more. Something greater than a simple act. They spun magic with their bodies. And would do so for as long as they had air to breathe. He whispered words of encouragement, of endearment, into her ears, stroking her hair. A chill breeze swept over the deck, and gooseflesh rose on Emma’s arms in the contrast to the blazing heat where skin met skin. She began to rock again and this time when she shivered it wasn’t because of the cold. Every tilt of her body, her nipples brushed against his chest, every roll of her abdomen, her most delicate flesh dragged across him, and throughout it all, Killian held her close to him, taking pleasure in each catch of her breath and shudder of her body. 

His hands came around, grabbed her ass on the next thrust, and pushed down.

“Killian, God! Yes.”

“You like that do you?”

She liked it so much she wanted to cry out, and made a mental note that as soon as she moved into his place - their place - she’d make him do this all over again just so she didn’t have to hold back. It was next to impossible to remain quiet when every motion put all the nerves inside her on edge. Using his hands to aid in her downward motion and energetically lifting his hips to meet her, he drove her faster and harder, until there was nothing she could do but let go into the blinding, shuddering ecstasy. She closed her mouth, turning the cry into a stifled whine. Killian followed with a last push and his own barely muffled groan.

Before they separated, he ran both his hands down her face, and pushed back her damp hair. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she brushed his equally sweat-tinged hair back.

They slid apart, cleaned and laid down. Emma nestled into him with her head on his shoulder, long since healed from that awful day so long ago. Both of them had their eyes on Cygnus. 

An hour later, they slipped into the cabin as the almost imperceptible line of orange daybreak stretched across the eastern horizon. 

By the time orange gave way to white gold, they had both passed the threshold into dreamless sleep; the kind of slumber that comes when the only thoughts in that split second before drifting away are of complete contentment. Of knowing that there is nowhere else that they were meant to be than right beside each other; and knowing that when they awoke in the morning, wherever they were, wherever their ship carried them, they would be home.


End file.
